RECREATIONS 


RECREATIONS 

BY  J.  T. 

'Verse -making  was  least  of  my  virtues:    I  viewed  with 

despair 
Wealth  that  never  yet  was  but  might  be — all  that  verse 

making  were 
If  the  life  would  but  lengthen  to  wish,  let  the  mind 

be  laid  bare. 
So    I    said    'To    do    little    is    bad,    to    do    nothing    is 

worse'  — 

And  made  verse." 
(BROWNING:    Ferishta's  Fancies.) 


'But  each  for  the  joy  of  the  working,  and  each,  in  his 

separate  star, 
Shall  draw  the   Thing  as  he  sees  It  for  the  God  of 

Things  as  They  Are!" 

(KIPLING:    The    Seven   Seas;    L' Envoi.} 


BOSTON 

THE  GORHAM  PRESS 
1915 


Copyright,  1915,  by  Richard  G.  Badffer 


All  Rights  Reserved 

PS 
?S"oo 

T3 


THE  GORHAM  PRESK,  BOSTON.  U.  S.  A. 


DEDICATION 

Youth  or  maiden  under  the  blossoming  trees, 
What  may  the  breath   of  my  far-off  song  waft 
you? 

Rather  the  drowsy  hum  of  the  golden  bees 
Is  young  and  true. 

Man  or  woman  under  the  laden  boughs, 

Shall  my  dead  words  make  live  the  thing  you  do? 

Rather  the  summer's  voice  or  your  own  vows 
May   comfort  you. 

You  happiest  ones  under  the  glowing  leaves. 

Is  mine  a  flame-tipt  song  to  pierce  you  through? 

Who    knows    but    your    children    hear    what    echo 

grieves 
The  hope  in  you? 

Aged  and  Lonely  under  the  naked  limbs, 

Can  my  last  breath  bring  in  the  spring  anew? 

Nay,  for  the  winter's   mournful  breathing  dims 
The  life   on  you. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

A  Song  of  Hell 9 

Maidens   16 

Haunted    17 

The  Poet  19 

Found     21 

Out  of  the  Past: 

Then  and  Now 25 

Exiles   25 

An  Idol   27 

Advice  from  the  Gods 27 

The  Ivory  Gate   28 

In  Hades 29 

Psyche    31 

In  Egypt    32 

King  of  Kings 35 

The  End   36 

The  Pearl  Fisher 38 

One  Day: 

A  Song 52 

Forever    52 

Where  ?    53 

In  the  Garden 54 

Tryst    55 

Despair 56 

Forgotten   57 


RECREATIONS 


A  SONG  OF  HELL 

Past  the  Cities  of  the  Living, 

Thro'  the  Ashes  of  the  Dead, 
O'er  the   Plains  of  Retribution 

In  my  dying  dream  I  fled, 
Thro'  the  Land  of  Eyeless  Weeping, 

Where  the  raging  tears  are  fire 
And  the  worm  drives  out  all  sleeping 

With  his  torment  of  Desire. 

In   the   sombre   Antechamber 

Of  the  Royal  Presence  Room, 
I  have  hailed  my  haggard  brothers 

As  they  shrink  before  their  doom; 
And  we  hear  a  maiden  singing 

With  a  voice  to  buy  her  shame, — 
But  the  houri's  arms  are  flinging 

Far   her   gossameres  of   flame. 

For  the  King  is  filled  with  sorrow, 

And  he  bids  his  harem  dance, 
While  he  sinks  in  dreamy  languor 

'Neath  the  anguish  of  their  glance, 
As  their  feet  are  gaily  tripping 

Through  a  maze  of  utter  woe, 
And  the  streaming  flames  are  stripping 

From  their  bodies,  bare  as  snow; 

As  they  dazzle  him  with  whiteness, 
Throwing  high  their  tortured  arms, 

Singing  with  transmuted  madness, 
Luring  him  with  hellish  charms, 

Writhing  in  delirious  revel, 


Bathed  in  life,   forever  drenched 
With   the  never-ending  torments 
Of  Desire  that's  never  quenched. 

Who  will  soothe  the  King  in  sadness, 

Who  will  share  his  bridal  bed, 
Who  will  drain  the  bitter  gladness 

Steeped  in  love  forever  dead? 
Look,  his  eyes  are  slowly  turning 

To  a  woman's  flowing  hair, 
Pale  the  lambent  tongues  are  burning 

Round  her  face  so  strangely  fair. 

Now  his  face  is  grim  with  passion, — 

Like  a  death  his  limbs  are  set, 
Fast  his  soul  is  ebbing  from  him — 

What  will  such  a  love  beget? 
Sweeter  swells  the  anguished  wailing 

As  the  semblance  of  the  King 
Into  glowing  mists  is  paling 

Hanging  in  an  amber  ring: 

Hanging  in  a  ring  of  amber 

Flames  with  flickering  hearts  of  red, 
Pulsing  with  the  lust  of  ages 

Round  his  bride's  abhorrent  head ; 
Bright  the  cloud  is  settling  slowly 

Drenching  her  in  shrouds  of  light, 
She  is  given  to  him  wholly — 

Love  is  born  in  Hell  tonight. 

Oh  the  melody  of  Chaos 

Shouting  loud  with  thund'rous  voice, 
Like  the  barren  winds  cavernous, 

When  the  King  has  made  his  choice; 
10 


Incantations,    bowlings,    groanings, 
Cursing  at  an  outcast  fate, 

Shrieks  of  spirits,  sobbings,  moanings, 
Wails  of  love,  and  prayers  of  hate. 

Throbbing,  writhing,  panting,  melting, 

Mingled  in  unhallowed  bliss, 
Hear  the  ecstacy  that's  singing 

In  the  Serpent's  stinging  hiss, — 
For  the  King  is  madly  twining 

Like  an  emerald  of  fire 
And  his  jewelled  coil  is  shining 

In  the  furnace  of  desire. 

But  the  Bride  is  wan  with  loathing 

And  she  holds  her  face  aside, 
Feebly  thrusting  his  head  backward 

As  he  tries  to  kiss  his  bride ; 
See,  the  coils  are  crushing  closely 

Round  her  lily  breasts  of  white, 
And  her  arms  are  struggling  vainly — 

She  must  lie  with  him  to-night. 

To  a  bridal  couch  of  embers 

He  will  drag  her  shrinking  form, 
To  that  chamber  stark  with  terrors, 

Where  the  outraged  spirits  swarm — 
Mock  him  with  his  lusts  forgotten, 

Call  him  by  his  hidden  name, 
Holding  up  the  ghouls  begotten 

In   that   bed   of   nameless  shame. 

As  her  virgin  breath  is  fleeting 

From  the  tangles  of  her  mate, 
Back  she  casts  a  look  entreating — 
II 


Blind  with  horror  at  her  fate, 
Looking  as  the  bird  ensnared 

She  had  freed  with  her  own 
When  she  walked  a  care-free  maiden, 

Ere  she  heard  the  King's  commands. 

Oh  the  wildness  of  that  seeking, 

In  the  hell  of  her  despair, 
Oh  the  torn,  dishonored  beauty, 

And  her  eyes  that  wildly  stare ; 
And    the   hopeless,   pleading   terror, 

Streaming  with  dishevelled   hair. 
Meets  my  soul  as  in  a  mirror — 

Binds  my  soul  and  holds  it  there. 

And  I  see  my  lost  Oenonc 

In   a  second's  fleeting  glance, 
As  my  heart  is  stilled   with    Beauty, 

In  a  muffled,  beating  trance, 
Dim  the  Devil's  Court  is  paling 

To  a  blessed  sea-girt  land, 
Where  we  walked  at  twilight  failing, 

Softly  singing,  hand  in  hand. 

As  the  parched  plains  of  Sorrow 

Brood   in  purple  mists  away, 
I  must  live  again  the  morrow 

Of  that  direful,  bitter  day. 
When  the  King  had  sought  her  body 

In  the  daylight  growing  dim, 
When  he  lusted  for  her  fairness 

And  she  gave  herself  to  him. 

Oh  the  racking  of  the  sobbing 

When  she  laid  her  lost  soul  bare, 

12 


Oh  the  agony  of  weeping 

When  she  told  me  of  the  snare 

I  can  hear  a  dead  sea's  silence 

Round  a  waste  of  dismal  shore — 

Silence  of  unuttered  horror — 
She  is  His  forevermore. 

I  can  feel  forgotten  moonlight 

Stealing  over  sea  and  hill, 
I  can  hear  her  voiceless  pleading 

Dumb  with  grief  that  will  not  kill, 
As  she  chants  in  maddened  raving 

Of  a  soul  that's  fled  before 
Her  where  is  no  shade  of  saving 

From  the  King  forevermore. 

On  my  bosom  gently  rocking 

That  dear  head  of  His  disgrace, 
Arms  around  her  neck  I'm  locking 

In  one  dying,  last  embrace — 
But  her  spirit  shrinking,  fleeting, 

Fleeting,  and  already  flown, 
Greets  me  with  a  mystic  greeting, 

Greets  me  with  a  Word  unknown. 

And  the  Word  is  past  all  knowing — 

Past  all  dreams  of  mortal  ken, 
But  I  know  that  Word  remembered 

Would  bring  back  her  soul  again ; 
Hark — the  Voice  is  growing  clearer, 

Vanished   all   the  tortured  years, 
See — her  spirit  hovers  nearer 

And  my  hair  is  wet  with  tears. 


Ah,  the  dews  of  night  are  falling, 

Weeping  as  they  wept  of  yore, 
And  her  pleading  voice  is  calling — 

Calling  once,  to  call  no  more — 
She  is  speaking — she  is  speaking — 

God — at  last  the  Word  she  spoke — 
Hovering  near  me — will  it  reach  me? 

Oh  too  late! — The  Vision  broke. 

She  is  seeking,  she  is  searching 

As  she  pants  in  her  despair 
In  an  agony  of  hoping, 

And  her  soul  goes  mad  with  prayer: 
But  the  Word  is  lost  forever 

And  all  memory  is  cloud 
In  the  splendor  of   Hell's  passion 

And  the  Devil's  bridal  shroud. 

She  has  fallen,  he  is  dragging 

Her  to  chill  the  Seventh  Hell, 
And  I  shout  in  exultation — 

I  am  mad — I  loved  her  well — 
Loved  her  as  my  soul  forgotten 

In  the  loveless  deaths  I've  died, 
Loved  her  in  my  age-long  seeking — 

Loved  her  as  the  Devil's  bride. 

Swing  ye  fiends  the  crimson  censers, 

Dash  their  fire  into  my  eyes, 
Mock   with   memory   remembered, 

Rock  my  spirit  as  it  lies 
On  the  solemn  billows  fretful 

With  their  sullen,  stately  swTell, 
Till  I  sink  in  pain  forgetful 

Of  a  hell  within  a  hell. 


Let  me  dash  on  thro'  the  Ages 

Battling  rocks  and  flames  and  trees, 
Let  me  suffer  all  the  torments 

Of  thy  loathsomest  disease, 
Cursed  with  life  forever  springing 

From  the  charnel  of  the  world, 
Blind  with  memory  of  seeing 

Her  in  outer  darkness  hurled. 

O  Thou  God  in  Heaven  creating 

Agonies  of  Love  and  Death, 
Breathing  loving,  breathing  hating 

In   thy  life-inspiring  breath, 
Look  on  thy  forgotten  plaything — 

Look,  thou  Devil-God  and  see 
This  thy  master-piece  of  jesting — 

Laugh  for  all  eternity ! 


MAIDENS 

Where  shall  I  find  you,  maiden  mine 
Who  never  yet  shone  for  me, — 

Under  the  sun  of  the  sea's  gold  shine — 
There  in  the  dream-dusk  sea? 

O  radiant  maid  who  never  shone 

On  beach  or  sea  or  foam, 
Only  lead  me,  love  my  own 

To  Dawn's  deep  crystal   home. 

There  at  last  I'll  clasp  again 

One  hand  ne'er  touched  by  hands ; 

I'll  sing  the  Morning's  calm  refrain 
No  maiden  understands. 


16 


HAUNTED 

'Tis  the  island  wood  where  you  shadowy  stood 

On  a  morn — but  long  ago, 
Like  a  startled  fawn  awakened  at  dawn 

When  the  dying  night  moans  low; 
And  now  you  seem  but  a  beautiful  dream, 

To  lure  me  with  yearning  eyes, 
Till  the  ghostly  breeze  in  these  haunted  trees 

Dies  in  remembered  sighs. 

Ah,  many  a  year  have  I  sought  you  here 

And  my  sea-mates  forget  to  sigh 
In  every  zone  for  you  alone, 

So  I — come  here  to  die; 
No  hope  was  theirs  and  long  despairs 

Billowed  their  briny  years, 
But  I  read  in  your  eyes  that  hope  never  dies 

Tho'  a  sea  may  drown  in  tears. 

Was   I   other   than    these? — for   the  kindly   breeze 

Whispered — "She   whispers   to   you" — 
And  the  morning  stir  of  the  restless  fir 

Mourned — "I   am   grieving  for  you," 
Till  the  sundring  sound  of  the  tide  swept  round 

In  echoes  of  sobbing  years, 
To  rise  like  the  swell  of  a  far-off  bell 

And  answered — "Have  done  with  fears." 

Oh,  the  charm  and  grace  of  your  vanished  face 
Were  the  lure  and  the  life  of  a  soul, 

And  the  surging  strife  of  a  haunted  life 
Was  the  dream  in  the  restless  roll 

Of  the  sea  as  it  read  from  the  scroll  of  the  dead. 


And  in  storm  this  word  again — 
"She  bids  you  speak,  tho'  your  soul  be  weak 
Lost  love  is  never  in  vain." 

Where  the  mad  ships  reel  on  storm-bared  keel 

O'er  the  ghost  of  a  dream-locked  sea. 
The  lost  winds  shriek  their  whistling  "Speak! — 

Speak,  ah  speak  to  me!" 
But  the  wild  refrain  of  the  winds  in  pain 

Is  the  sea  with  a  sorrowing  plea, 
For  its  restless  roll  is  your  yearning  soul 

Slumbering  down  in  the  sea. 

With  every  breath  we  prayed  for  death 

From  cities  and  seas  and  kings, 
But  ever  your  eyes,  where  the  hope  never  dies, 

Have  urged  me  to  better  things; 
I  am  weary  now,  and  your  pale,  wan  brow 

Seems  weary  of  thought  as  mine. 
Oh  ease  my  brain  from  its  maddening  pain — 

Madder  than  maddest  wine. 

Are  you  only  a  dream  in  the  fleeting  gleam 

Of  a  morn  that  never  was  real; 
Are  your  yearning  eyes,  where  the  love  never  dies, 

Still  mute  in  their  sweet  appeal? 
Is  your  shadowy  isle  but  a  mist  to  beguile 

The  weary  ships  that  seek 
To  find  you  again — and  wearier  men — 

Speak,  for  I  cannot  speak. 


18 


THE  POET 

Cold,  cold  is  the  dew  upon  his  hair, 

Far,  far  the  stars  above  his  careless  head, 

And  silence  everywhere 
Hushes,  hushes  all  he  would  have  said: 

He  is  not  dead ! 
Lo ! — There  he  wanders,  touching  first  a  star, 

Then  a  lily's  dewy  cheek; — 
Hear  a  marvel! — Sundered  aeons  afar 
The  petals'  frailty  from  yon  raging  Sun 

He  made  them  one 
(This  thing  all  lilies  know,) 
So  long  ago ; — could  she  but  speak 

Then  would  she  tell  us  so: 
How  long  ago!  yet  this  has  ever  been, 

Before  his  hour  it  was;  it  is; 
And  still  the  word  that  crowned  her  queen 
Of  stars  and  flowers  was  only  his ; 

Had   he  not  sung 

The  magic  of  the  mind  had  never  wed 
This  child  of  heaven  and  distant  hell, — 

Man's  dusty  tongue 
Denying  Night  her  unseen  diadem 
Had  said,  "Be  ye  apart,  and  twain 

O  Star  and  starrier  flower." 
Only  he  has  married  them 
Forever,  his  the  mystic  spell 

Above  their  airy  bed  ; 
Their  bridal  chamber  is  the  mind 
Of  aeons,  his  the  little  hour 
Outlasting  ruined  Time.     It  was  not  vain — 

Though  he  be  dead — 

The  lightning  thought  that  struck  all  ages  blind 
A  vivid  instant, — he 
19 


Is  writ  forever  on  the  brow  of  things 

For  years  and  men  to  see; 
And,  though  no  more  he  sings 
Or  fires  a  sodden  clay,  he  is, 

That  flash  is  he; 

Nor  shall  he  perish  utterly 
Or  ever,  till  all  Time  is  his 
And  is  no  more;  till  Death  o'envhelm 
Imagination's  everlasting  realm — 

Usurp  strong  Reason's  throne, 
And  make  the  end  of  All  his  own. 


2O 


FOUND 

Where  is  the  Kingdom  of  Happiness  hidden, 
Under  what  crags  do  its  seven  gates  glow, 
Over  what  breeze  do  its  banners  flow, 

Down  what  ravine  or  pathway  forbidden? 

I  asked  a  bride  and  she  answered  me, 
"Our  land  of  love  is  the  hiding  place, 
There  is  all  joy's  abiding  place; 

Our  valleys  are  bright  for  all  to  see." 

"Come,"  I  said,  to  the  bridegroom,  "hither; 

Are  the  words  of  your  love  the  voice  of  truth?" 
"Our   meadows   are    green    with    the   waters   of 
youth, 

And  the  Kingdom  is  here  where  no  buds  wither." 

They  saw  the  banners;  I  turned  to  a  maid, 

"What  flowers  are  those  you  tenderly  cherish?" 
"Dreams  I  have  culled  lest  my  longing  perish, 

But  harsh  is  the  way  and  I  grow  afraid." 

A  boy  by  her  side  was  smitten  with  wonder, 
"A  silly  girl  and  her  dreams  may  wilt," — 
And  he  shook  his  sword  by  its  jewelled  hilt, 

"I  will  capture  the  Kingdom  with  all  its  plunder." 

He  was  lost;  so  I  questioned  one  grown  rich, — 
"The  Kingdom  lies  by  a  golden  mountain ; 
By  a  Sea  whence  gushes  a  silver  fountain 

I  will  ease  my  palm's  and  my  fingers'  itch." 


No  guides  were  these,  and  I  sought  the  roses; 
"Where,  sweet  friends,  does  the  Kingdom  lie?" 
They  hung  their  heads  with  a  fragrant  sigh, — 

"In   our  hearts,  where   the   soul   of   the   noon    un 
closes." 

Baffled,  I  turned  to  a  gem-eyed  toad, — 

"You  who  blink,  was  the  fair  truth  spoken?" 
"No,"  he  croaked,  "if  my  head  be  broken 

You'll  see  the  way, — a  jewel-strewn  road." 

"Philosopher-toad  I  will  none  of  your  jesting, 
But  I  like  your  cult," — and  I  stopped  a  sage ; 
"The  path,"  said  he,  "is  a  printed  page, 

And  the  wars  unwon  are  truth's  grim  wresting." 

He  gave  me  a  wonderful  book  as  guide, 

Its  words  were  tears,  its  letters  were  laughter, 
And  I  read,  "Thou  shalt  find  the  Kingdom  here 
after," 

As  I  closed  the  book  with  Night  at  my  side. 

Then  I  felt  the  awe  of  her  windy  tresses, 

"Are    the   jewels    on    your    hair    the    Kingdom's 

lights?" 
"Nay,"  and  her  voice  was  low,  "but  Night's": 

And  she  touched  my  brow  with  a  dream's  caresses. 

Lost  at  dawn  on  the  mountain-tops 

I  questioned  a  spectre,  "Speak  what  place  is 
This  where  the  shades  hide  tear-stained  faces?" 

"Heaven;  and  our  tears  are  the  small  dew-drops." 

"The  Kingdom  of  Joy?"  I  asked  another 

Whose  face  was  wet,  and  he  answered  "yea;" 
"Let  this  be  truth,  I'll  not  gainsay, 

But  who  was  that  other?"     He  said,  "my  brother." 
22 


A  lonely  ghost  went  wandering  there, 

His  eyes  were  dry  but  his  face  ungladdened  ; 
"Why,  for  you,  is  Paradise  saddened?" 

"I  strove  for  happiness,  earned  despair." 

"Come,"  I  urged,  "let  us  seek  together; 
These  are  the  crags,  and  God's  fair  town 
Is  below;"  as  I  turned  to  lead  him  down 

There  fell  at  my  feet  an  angel's  feather. 

Proudly  we  turned  our  backs  on  the  sky, 

Through    the    day's    long   heat    our    souls    gre\v 

meeker  ; 
"Harsh,"  groaned  he,  "is  the  way  of  the  seeker;" 

"Let  us  wait  for  Night,"  I  said,  "and  die." 

"Let  us  search  no  more  though  its  gates  be  seven, 
I  weary,"  he  wept,  "and  joy  would  kill;" 
So  we  laid  us  down  with  a  ready  will 

Under  the  mystical  silver  of  heaven. 

"Lo!"  he  cried,  "  'tis  the  seventh  gate!" 

As  he  leaped  with  youth  at  the  sudden  wonder, 
For  the  barren  crags  were  rent  asunder, 

And  the  Keeper  smiled,  "You  come,  though  late." 

My  ghostly  friend,  his  whole  face  shining 

Brighter  than   morning's,   cried,   "How  strange! 
Your  weariness  glows  with  a  wonderful  change ;" 

And  I  laughed,  "O  Soul,  'tis  your  own  designing." 

Then  we  roamed  the  meadows  in  calm  content, 
Where  the  roses  bloomed,  their  petals  unclosing 
Over  the  gold  of  a  noon  reposing 

Fair  as  a  god  with  his  youth  unspent. 
23 


I  nudged  my  friend  and  he  shook  with  glee, 
For  under  a  bush  lay  an  old  man  sleeping, 
And  a  toad  on  his  head  sat  solemnly  keeping 

Watch  o'er  a  dewdrop's  tiny  sea. 

But  who  walked  yonder,  bashfully  smiling? 
The  hilt  in  her  hand,  the  flowers  in  his  hair 
I  knew,  and  he  mourned  with  a  mock-despair, 

"Broken,  alas,  by  a  maid's  beguiling." 

We  journeyed  on  through  the  golden  gloaming 
Slowly  happy  to  Night's  bright  land  ; 
And  we  saw  them  wandering,  hand  in  hand, 

The  Bride  and  Groom  to  their  last  long  homing. 

Then   Night  looked  down  from  unsoundable  eyes, 
And  my  friend  glanced  backward,  his  face  for 
getful, 
The  sound  of  his  voice  far-off,  regretful — 

"How  sad  is  joy  when  the  last  grief  dies: 

Ah,  where  alas,  is  Happiness  hidden, 

Are  the  seven  gates  but  the  doors  of  a  tomb — 
Over  each  portal  the  terrible  doom : 

'  To  some  who  enter  am  I  forbidden?'  " 


OUT  OF  THE  PAST 

THEN    AND    NOW 

Fair    flower    of    pagan    days, 
Who  has  not  sung  thy  praise 
Remembering  thee? 

Proud  bloom  on  yonder  Sea, 

Where  shines  thy  Land 
Aflower  so  distantly? 

Is  that  wide  welter  spanned, 
(Could  we  but  understand) 
By  bridge  of  dreams? 

Afar  the  white  cliff  gleams — 

Still  foam  its  base, — 
Our  beach!  so  near  it  seems. 

Put  forth  and  find  that  Place 
Beyond  all  time,  all  space, 
Beyond  the  Sea. 

EXILES 

Land  of  the  Morning!*  memory's  realm, 

Magical  vale  no  care  may  take 
Or  Grief's  gray  hordes  o'erwhelm — 

We  are  thy  children  still: 
Though  we  wander  far  from  the  breezy  brake 

Under  the  glow  of  thy  golden  hill — 


*(Note:     Ur  of  the  Chaldeans;    sometimes   (in  the 
cuneiform  writings,)   The  Garden  of  Eden.) 

25 


(Alas  that  we  left  so  soon,  so  soon) 

We  shall  never  forget 
Our  last  cool  drink  from  the  little  rill, 
Or  the  rose  \ve  took  for  thine  own  dear  sake, 
And  the  few  white  jessamine  stars,  to  set 

Only  with  thy  last  moon. 

There  flowed  a  river  slowly  down, 

Thyme  its  banks,  where  velvety  bees 
Tumbled  from  cup  to  crown, 

Oh !  but  so  long  ago ! 
There  was  trumpet-vine  on  the  poplar  trees 

Seen  afar  in  its  scarlet  glow 
(Oh  whisper  not  that  it  shines  no  more!) 

Do  the  bees  still  haunt  the  thyme, — 
Where  are  those  lizards  we  used  to  know 
Sunning  themselves  in  lazy  ease; 
Does  our  wild  clematis  boldly  climb 

Those  rocks  it  loved  of  yore? 

Under  my  pillow  I'll  hide  a  rose, 

(No  jessamine  flower  or  thyme  grows  here) 
In  the  first  swift  sleep  e'er  eyelids  close 

Undreaming,  I'll  see  Thee  again; 
Still  is  the  air  and  crystal  clear, 

Far  away  shines  a  silver  plain — 
Land  of  the  Morning !  glowing  afar 

Pure  as  a  jewel  on  Time's  bright  brow 
Undimmed  as  ever  by  life's  dull  rain, 
We  have  remembered  thy  happiness,  Dear, 
And  we  shall  forget  thee — hear  our  vow — 

Onlv  with  thv  last  star. 


26 


AN    IDOL 

Prisoned    in    granite   bonds 
Huge  stone  you  have  waited  for  me 
For  a  million  years  of  years 
That  my  hand  might  set  you  free. 

Cursed    Idol,   inhumanly   grim 
You  have  watched  the  Stars  and  God 
No  more  shall  you  gaze  on  Him 
Or  the  Stars  when  I  shatter  you. 

Cold  in  your  frozen  sneer, 
Dumb  as  your  sullen   tongue, 
You  have  heard  the  wails  of  men 
And  every  hope  they've  sung. 

God  and  Stars,  cold  stone 
Shall  judge  me  for  what  I  do; 
Not  you  shall  see  them  alone 
When  men  sink  under  the  earth. 

So  I  shatter  your  brow  to  dust 
And  bury  you  deep  in  this  cave ; 
No  more  shall  you  see  the   Stars 
Till   your   dust   is   mankind's   grave. 

ADVICE    FROM    THE    GODS 

What  profits? — Wine  in  a  golden  bowl, 
Garments  of  grape-red  flame, 
Or  flesh  far  sweeter  than  grapes 
Enticing  to  daintier  shame, — 
Or  love  in  alluring  shapes — 
What  profits  these  things,  our  Soul? 
27 


Disgust,  our  lust-drugged  youthful  fool ; 
Passion  slinks  out  when  reason  goes ; 
That  breast  all  yours  is  a  marble  thing, 
That  flower  in  her  hair  a  rotting  rose 
And  drunkard's  discords  those  hymns  you  sing 
To  your  harlot  goddess,  most  truthful   fool. 

Passions  kiss  not  your  weakling  men, 
Infinite  lust  not  theirs; 
Painless   kisses   are  only  ours 
Whose  body  no  mortal  shares; — 
Men,  your  vices  wither  as  flowers, 
Be  monks,  grow  weeds  again. 

THE    IVORY    GATE 

Over  the  shimmering  endless  plain 

Stark  with  its  rocks  and  sand, 
Under  a  sky  that  weeps  no  rain 

To   bless   the   desert   land, 
The  white-winged  birds  fly  on  with  pain 

In  a  stricken,  hopeless  band ; 
When  will  they  find  their  Sea  again 

And  sweep  thro'  the  foam  on  the  strand? 

Steel  is  the  hills'  inscrutable  blue 

In  a  hard  and  changeless  guile, 
Eternally  old,  and  eternally  new 

With  a  smile  of  fathomless  wile ; 
It  is  guarding  the  vale  of  shadows  and  dew 

As  the  birds  fly  on  the  while, 

And      they     hail     thes    hills — "Does     your     Pass 
lead  thro' 

To  the  green  of  our  blessed  isle?" 

28 


But  never  an  answering  word  as  they  wing 

The  titan  passes,  bound 
For  their  happy  isles,  white-blossoming 

Beyond  the  crashing  sound 
Of  curling  waves  on  a  coraled  ring, 

Encircling  homelands  round, 
With  waving  palms,  where  others  sing — 

But  these  are  homeward  bound. 

Droop  the  wearily  fluttering  wings — 

Death  will  come  too  late, 
Down  a  pass  a  messenger  brings 

News  of  the  Ivory  Gate — 
Set  as  a  bar  by  the  Mountain  Kings, 

Slaves  of  remorseless  Fate : 
Fold  the  dusty,  useless  wings, 

Brokenly  desolate. 

Blindly,  wearily,  one  by  one, 

They  beat  the  tracery  rare, 
Ivory  carved  by  Fate's  blind  Son — • 

Strong,  and  wonderfully  fair, 
Till  one  by  one,  their  journey  done, 

They  yearn  in  last  despair 
For  all  they  see — the  sky,  the  sun, 

The  foam,  and  heaven's  free  air. 

IN  HADES 

/  Proserpine 

Not  I  may  pluck  thee,  vanished  Rose, 
Or  cull  thy  dream  with  chilly  hand, 

Remembered  love  forever  knows 
The  Borderland. 

29 


What  though  I  haunt  the  Stygian  sand- 
I  may  not  pluck  thee,  vanished  Rose ; 

The  Borderland 

Is  Pluto's  realm;  afar  he  throws. 

His  dreams  to  cloud  with  wild  repose 

The  Borderland ; 
Not  I  may  pluck  thee,  vanished  Rose — 

Ah,  why,  thy  love  can  understand. 

The  Borderland 

Shall  pale  to  His  eternal  close; 
Alas,  I  hear  his  dread  command 

I  may  not  pluck  thee,  vanished  Rose. 

//  Pluto 

Alas,  I  hold  her  earthier  soul, 
Her  airy  love  may  still  repine; 

I  reft  her  from  the  grassy  knoll — 
She  is  not  mine. 

For  her  the  air  is  yet  divine 
I  hold,  alas,  her  earthier  soul ; 

She  is  not  mine, 

Nor  may  hell  ever  make  her  whole ; 

My  sultry   thunders  angered,   roll — 

'She  is  not  mine:' 
Alas,  I  hold  her  earthier  soul — 

A  crystal  cup  without  the  wine. 

She  is  not  mine; 

Although  I  take  her  journey's  toll, 
Her  backward  glance  is  but  the  sign 

I  hold,  alas,  her  earthier  soul. 
30 


PSYCHE 

By  the  shimmering  poplars  and  beeches, 

Alilt  to  the  laughing  breeze, 
Where  whispers  the  wind  on  the  reaches 

Of  wolds  by  the  well-loved  trees, 
I  caught  you,  my  Psyche,  and  kissed  you, 
And  then,  dear  spirit,   I  missed  you — 

Frail   Psyche,  my  wayward  tease. 

But  the  tears  rippled  low  in  your  laughter, 
As  your  wings  glanced  merrily  on, 

And  your  dream-eyes  shadowed  "hereafter"- 
Poor  butterfly,  where  have  you  gone? 

Sweet  friend  of  the  summers  and  swallows, 

Have  you  fluttered  where  no  Spring  follows- 
In  the  Land  of  Thither  and  Yon? 

Were  you  then  all  mocking  and  smiling, 

Not  a  heart  behind  it  all  ? 
Was  it  love,  or  an  hour's  beguiling 

That   bound   me  your   \villingest   thrall? 
Yet  you  answered   my  wild   entreating, 
Dear  dream,  with  your  dances  fleeting, 

But  now,  I  call,  and  call. 

In  my  dreams  I  fondle  your  tresses 
And  feel  your  wings  on  my  cheek 

With  a  butterfly's  dream  of  caresses, 
Oh  Psyche,  where  shall  I  seek? — 

I  rise,  and  the  meadows  are  dreary, 

And  the  breeze  in  the  beeches  grow  weary, — 
Ah  Psvche,  the  wolds  are  bleak! 


Oh  Psyche  come  back  to  your  lover — 
Lost  Psyche  with  the  sun-kissed  wings, 

Come  back  to  the  beeches,  and  hover 
O'er  hollows  where  summer  sings 

All  day  with  the  chirping  of  crickets 

And  care-free  birds  of  the  thickets — 
Come  back  where  the  blue-bell  rings ! 

IN   EGYPT 
/.     IstS 

The  jackal  prowls  thy  courts  by  night,  the  owl 
Flits  silent  by;  thy  fountain  writhes  for  breath 
With  strangling  weeds  and  living  things  most  foul, 
And  thy  High  Priest  is  sacrileged  in  death — 
A  chattle  in  the  hands  of  strawless  slaves 
To  make  a  vandal  show  before  the  mob; 
O  anguished  Outcast,   rend   these  ghouls  who   rob 
Thy  ravished  shrines  and  violated  graves! 

The  dreamy  lotus  lilies  lift  and  fall 
Upon  the  slumbering  waters,  as  when  Thou 
Wast  Goddess — their  frail  might  outlasting  thine; 
But  thro'  the  whispering  reeds  I  hear  Thee  call 
My  Soul — my  Goddess  then,  my  Goddess  now — 
I'll  lay  a  lotus  on  thy  broken  shrine. 

II.  Loti 

Weep!  thou  Nile,  for  we  are  loti,  fair 
Tho'  Egypt  mourns ;  O  must  we  ever  know 
Thy  meres  and  shallow  places?     Long  ago 
We  wove  a  million  crowns  for  fragrant  hair 
Of  priestesses,  that  knew  not  any  care 
32 


Save  pain  of  love;  and  now,  we  deck  thy  slow 
Unending  stream,  remorseless  in  its  flow- 
By  tombs  and  palaces  where  grim  despair 
Dreams  not  of  love.     O  Isis,  Horus,  lone 
In  heaven's  unending  solitude,  but  hear 
Thy  purple  playthings  on  the  waters  moan 
What  once  was  prayer, — when  we  were  thy  most 

dear 

Fond  worshippers;  ah,  do  not  now  disown 
Our  pleading  when  the  very  noon  is  drear. 

HI.  Memnon 

Huge  pylons,  stark  in  man-outlasting  might, 
And  grim  colossi  stalk  the  sandy  plain 
Where  giant  Memnon,  brooding  still  in  vain 
This  ancient  wrong  of  time,  awaits  the  light 
That  Ra  shall  send  to  banish  Egypt's  night; 
He  hymns  vain  monotones  of  praise  again — 
A  witness  to  his  god's  eternal  reign, 
The  sire  of  Night  in  Day,  and  Wrong  in  Right. 

The  priest,  and  suppliants  who  bow  to  priest, 
Lie  down  in  equal  dust ;  lo,  all  the  throng 
That  drave  the  hecatomb  of  bulls  to  feast, 
Are  one  with  their  dead  cattle;  then,  how  long 
Shall  this  dead  thing  of  stone  still  face  the  East, 
And  unmolested  drone  its  empty  song? 

IV.    Karnak 

Egyptian  suns  have  loomed  thy  wondrous  walls 
In  shadowed  hieroglyph  of  Kings'  decay 
Across  the  waste  these  thousand  years,  and  they 
Have  marched  with  Empire's  pomp  where  night  ap 
pals 

33 


Wan  images  of  day,  in  vaster  halls 
Than  thine :  thy  graven  glories  pass  away 
With  this  dead  sun,  and  all  thy  hallowed  sway 
Of  shaven  priests,  where  no  last  prayer  recalls 

Thy  vanished  God  to  bless  their  darkened  shrine. 
O  mighty  in  thy  sculptured  pride,  and  strong 
With   love  of  Gods, — Time's  grudging  grant  was 

thine — 

To  strive  to  conquer  plundering  man  so  long 
As  men  fanatic  humble  things  divine — 
Another's  gods; — this  was  thy  shameless  wrong. 

V.  The  Pyramids 

The  vanity  of  Kings  was  ours,  and  lust 

Of  pride  in  death,  upreared  to  mock  the  dead 

With  everlasting  stone; — the  nameless  dread 

That  rulers  sink  in  age-forgotten  dust 

Is  ours,  and  all  the  wealth  of  gilded  trust 

Queens  put  in  us,  is  dross;  the  humbled  head 

Of  tyrant  bows  to  slave, — his  glory  fled 

Where  gleaming  spears  that  kinged  him,  rot  in  rust. 

Sarcophagi,  and  chambered  death  are  vain 
As  is  the  echoed  boast  of  them  that  made 
Our  mighty  mass,  obsessing  Egypt's  plain 
Of  silent  sand,  all  voiceless,  undismayed 
By  pigmy  threats  of  men :    O  turn  again, 
Thou  child  of  stony  death,  and  be  afraid. 

VI.  The  Sphynx 

Eternal  silence  is  my  voice,  the  Sand 
My  dead  dominion ;  buried  men  and  bones 
My  woman's  sacrifice,  and  harsher  stones 
34 


My  taunting  sneer  to  urge  my  grim  command: — 
"Thirst  ye  to  know,  but  never  understand 
My  snarling  silence:"  thus  thy  life  atones 
The  ignorance  my  age-worn  smile  disowns 
In  thee,  encumberers  of  this,  my  Land. 

All  knowledge  lives  within  my  cheating  tomb, 
Life  is  its  sepulchre,  and  death  thy  wage, 
I  suck  thee  down  in  silent  fear  and  gloom 
Of  sands  remorseless  as  the  simoon's  rage; 
And  endless  thirst — this  is,  O  Man,  thy  doom, 
Athirst,  athirst!  assuage  who  would  assuage. 

KINGS    OF    KINGS 

Ye  reared  me  towers  of  stone,  and  walls  of  gem, 

Chalcedony  and  topaz,  emerald 

And  rubies, — then  a  thorned  diadem 

Ye  wove  my  brows,  when  sated  men  beheld 

The  vanity  of  gold  and  dust  of  stone: 

Ye  shadowed  all  the  clouds  with  boast  of  light 

To  cheat  thy  misery,  and  still  the  moan 

Ye  made  by  day,  false  hoping  in  my  night — 

But  never  dwelt  I  there.     For  I,  the  shade 

Of  all  ye  cannot  be,  creep  slow  across 

The  changing  dial  of  minds,  I  changeless  rise 

And  set,  and  rise  again,  calm,  undismayed 

By  groping  seekers  lost, — for  Man's  the  loss 

In  dawn ; — I  heed  not  when  his  crying  dies. 

A  thousand  names  ye  gave  me;  worlds  before 
Ye  mouthed,  or  carved  an  image  gravely  dumb, 
I  knew  and  mocked  them  all :  for  as  the  sower 
Knows  that  weeds  and  ranker  tares  must  come 
With  summer,  thus  1  saw  the  fruitless  crop 
Of  all  thy  prayers,  ere  words  were  sown  to  choke 
Thy  silence;  nor  can  all  thy  tears  unstop 
35 


My  wells  of  pity  for  thy  idols  broke 
And  wasted  like  the  winds.     In  life  they  knew 
Me  not, — nor  ever  hoped  to  know ;  so  ye 
Have  cast  thy  faith  on  death,  that  fickle  reed 
My  mind  has  made  to  pierce  thee;  ye  endue 
My  greater  shadow,  dark  to  shadowed  thee 
With  life;  pray  ye  to  Time,  he  cannot  heed. 

Deep  in  a  buried  forest,  beyond  the  Sea 
Undreamed,  my  Temple's  cloud-hewn  pallor  looms 
In   soundless   majesty   all   shadowy. 
My    slumbering    winds    are    drugged    with    heavy 

blooms 

Of  deadly  night-flowers,  dark  with  age-worn  light 
From  brooding  blood-red  moons,  chill  sabled  thro' 
The  noiseless-echoed  aisles,  and  Giant  Night 
Stalks  huge  in  mists  of  dull  Lethean  dew. 
Oblivion's  ocean  rolls  around  my  walls, 
But  Sleep,  with  sombre  web,  builds  low  the  ghosts 
Of  stoneless  bridges,  dark  and  dawn-forgot, 
That  ye  may  cross  my  flood  and  yearn  in  halls 
Of  Silence,  wan  with  gray,  unnumbered  hosts 
That  seek  the  face  of  Death,  and  find  me  not. 

THE  END 

Down  the  meadows  came  one  singing, 
His  hair  was  as  wind  on  the  skies, 

Down  the  azure  rushed  one  bringing 
Light  in  his  fast  shut  eyes; 

Then  I  rose  in  my  grave,  I  said — 

Shall  a  blind  god  wake  the  dead? 


Far  by  the  stars  a  lone  god  wandered, 
No  wind  swept  night  from  the  skies; 

Lonely  there  an  old  god  pondered — 
Black  were  his  blazing  eyes ; 

Then  I  lay  in  my  grave  and  said, 

Can  a  dead  god  see  the  dead? 


37 


THE  PEARL  FISHER 

Winds,  if  ye  know  voices,  Sea,  if  thou  a  calling, 
Ocean,  if  thou  aught  of  message  hast  to  hail  Her, 
Let  the  waves  and  all  their  demon's  chill  enthrall 
ing 

Hind  Her  fleeting  shadow,  let  no  gods  avail  Her 
In  the  mastery  of  death, 

Let  Iier  choke  and  strangle  in  Her  waters,  fighting 
breath. 

All  Her  magic  swells  this  rolling  of  the  billows, 
She  has  lured  the  living,  land-loved  rivers  hither 
From  their  blossomed  banks  and  silver  pollard  wil 
lows, 
Lured  them,  promised  that  Her  blooms  can  never 

wither, 

Here,  where  all  is  waving  weeds, 
Fadeless   lilies,   rocks  and   standing  pools   and   yel 
low  reeds. 

I  have  dwelt  in  sea-deep  cities  all  these  ages 

Since  the  deeper  time-forgotten   day  she  lured  me 

deeper 

For  Her  Pearls,  and  still  above  the  waters  rages 
Wilderness  of  sorcery,  and  still  the  sleeper 
Dreams  of  pearls,  to  find  them  here, — 
Sleeps  and  dreams,  to  find  a  Pearl   than  all  more 

baleful  dear. 

All  the  lands  of  Tyre  and  Sidon  held  no  fairer 
Love  and  face  than  my  Sidonia's;  never  lover 
Dreamed  a  vision  like  to  her,  nor  poet  rarer 
Loveliness,  and  all  her  longing  seemed  to  hover 
Breathless  wafted  on  my  mouth 
Close  pressed  to  hers,  with   rapture  soft  as  winds 
that  love  the  South. 
38 


So   when   our   troth   was  sealed,   you   turned   with 

winsome  jesting — 
"Dive  for  pearls,  for  queenly  pearls;  bring  love  a 

token 
Of  your  love,  bring  me  the  Queen  of  all  the  Pearls, 

in  testing 

Of  your  faith,  to  weave  a  chaplet;  if  it  broken 
Ever  be,  to  fall  before 
My  feet,  so  that  I  tread  the  pearls,  our  love  shall 

live  no  more." 

I  stood  above  the  prow,  and  that  last  look  you  sent 
me 

From  the  shore  was  love  before  the  Deep,  then 
poising 

O'er  the  wave,  I  plunged;  Oh  could  your  eyes  tor 
ment  me 

Down  those  haunted  waters,  where  dull  pulsed  nois 
ing 

Throbs  thro'  bursting  ears  and  brain — 

Did  they  stare  upon  me,  never  to  behold  again  ? 

"Dive  for  Pearls" — down,  down  to  mottled  glitter 
Bright  on  rocks  and  ocean  lichens  far  below  me; 
Slowly  moved  the  weeds,  but  ever  forth  in  bitter 
Sway  of  salty  flowr,  there  causeways  glowed  to  show 

me 

Where  Her  amber  palace  lay, 
Seemed  to  wave  me  on  with  slow  and  melancholy 

sway. 

Pearls  I  promised,  My  Sidonia,  from  the  water 
You  had  loved,  pearls  I  dived  for, — could   I   find 

them 

Save  their  Queen  befriended  me?   So  I  sought  Her 
39 


Down  ocean's  meadows  where  Her  mermaids  fond 
ly  twine  them 

Thro'  a  slow  and  mazy  dance — 

Gazing  round  them,  twining  with  insinuating 
glance. 

To  Her  palace,  vaulted  high  with  halls  of  amber, 
Soft  aglow  with  sun  and  amythest,  I  wandered — 
To   Her   door  of   pearl   where  crimson   sea  weeds 

clamber 

O'er  the  gleaming,  trellised  walls  with  riot-squan 
dered 

Wealth  luxuriant  of  bloom — 

Shading  opal  wonders  of  Her  domes  and  presence 
room. 

Slowly  waved  the  weeds  aside  and  gleaming  tresses 

Floated  where  I  stood,  till  all  the  sea  shone  golden, 

And  I  heard  the  infamy  of  soft  caresses 

Wafted  in  my  ear,  so  knew  I  was  beholden 

In  loving  serfdom  to  the  Queen — 

Pale  in  palaces  of  amber,  jade  and  waters  green. 

O'er  Her  crystal  floor  with  noiseless  feet  I  hurried 
To  a  vast  and  shining  room  where  She  was  holding 
Court,  enthroned  'mid  mermaids'  beauty,  hidden 

buried 

Deep  from  eyes  of  prying  man  in  waters'  folding 
Shroud  of  mystery,  and  all 
Her  throng  seemed  waiting  for  a  man  to  lift  the 

silent  pall. 

Oh  Sidonia,  true  Sidonia,  She  had  shaken 
All  my  bounden  love  for  you;  She  was  fairer, 
Fair  Sidonia,  than  the  lotus  buds  that  waken 
Frail  on  dawning  waters,  and  Her  lips  were  rarer 
40 


Red  than  reddest  Chian  wine, 
And   Her  eyes  were  veiled   as  cloudy   moons  that 
dimly  shine. 

Long  the  Tyrian  barques  and  all  their  crews  have 

vanished, 

Long  their  divers  waited  for  the  little  bubbling 
Bells  of  air;  long,  ah  long  have  I  been  banished 
Far  from  worlds  where  love  with  all  his  joyous 

troubling 

Flits  the  shore  on  searching  wings, 
Seeking  lovers  strayed  on  ever  turnless  wanderings. 

Oh  Sidonia,  sad  Sidonia,  wandering  lonely 

Thro'  yon  flowery  waste,  how  I  loved  and  loathed 

Her, 

Passionlessly  fish,  and  wanton  woman  only 
In  Her  lust,  what  time  she  hotly  draped  and  clothed 

Her 

With  ocean's  pearls  and  woman's  weeds — 
I  loved  to  hear  Her  lure  my  soul  to  loveless,  shame 
less  deeds. 

"Thou  a  man  art  fair,  and  all  thy  days  are  num 
bered, 

Henceforth  in  our  opalescent  sheen  of  twilight 

Here  where  dreams  of  broken  loves  have  ever  slum 
bered, 

Comforted  from  all  the  woes  of  brooding  daylight, 

Loving  never  one  but  Me — 

Loving  not  the  blossomed  land  that  mourns  above 
my  Sea." 

She  had  won  the  man  in  me,  and  all  my  baser 
Clay,  but  oh  Sidonia,  how  the  God  with  longing 
41 


Rebelled,    and    held    your   soul    with    sweetness    to 

deface   Her 
Foulest    travesty   of   flesh,   and    all    Her   mermaids 

thronging 
Sinuously  human, 
Half  a  scaled  fish,  and  half  a  yearning  woman. 

Far  adown  the  soundless  aisles  of  weedstrewn  water 
Seemed  to  steal  a  throb  of  distant,  lonely  weeping — 
"Oh  woe  is  me,  for  my  unworthy  sake  you  sought 

Her 

In  Her  pearly  caves,  and  Death  has  now  your  keep 
ing 

Cold   in   gloomy  caverns ;  woe, 
Oh  woe  is  me,  I'd  seek  for  you,  but  w'hither  shall  I 
go? 

Then  I  rose  and  cursed  Her  couch  of  swinish  lust 
ing, 

Left  Her  barren  as  the  stones  and  rocks  that  perish 
Atom  after  atom  barrenly ;  and  trusting 
In  your  trust,  I  laggard  turned  again  to  cherish 
Love  late  scorned  and  cast  away — 
Too  late,  for  She  arose  to  blight  me,  haggard,  ashen 
gray; 

Baleful  in  Her  thwarted  lust,  Her  words  unspoken 
Dropped  like  pearls  of  vitriol  thro'  the  seething 

water: 
"Men  have  loved  the  Queen  'ere  this  and  ruthless 

broken 
Her   fond,   yielding   heart,    men   have   ever   sought 

Her, 

Crushed  and  cast  Her  heart  aside — 
Many  so  have  wooed  and  won  Her  soul  a  willing 

bride ; 

42 


Bitter  bread  of  love,  more  bitter  wine  of  passion 
These  are   Her  overthrow,   all   Her  wild  despair 
ing 

Sings  in  siren  voices,  so  the  changeless  fashion 
Of  man  the  mariner  o'er  loving  waters  faring 
May  turn  and  pity  Her  despair — 
To  turn  again  and  curse  Her  that  She  was  so  foul 
ly  fair; 

She  will  not  rend  or  sear  their  bodies,  souls  are 

sweeter 

Agonies  to  contemplate,  soft  flesh  may  wither, 
Lose  all  hues  of  pain,  so  men  that  turn,  find  love 

and  greet  Her 

Tho'  they  long  to  turn  again  and  get  them  thither, 
There  they  may  not  wend  anew, 
But  wander  here  forever,  silent  tortured  thro'  and 

thro': 

Ever  gaze  they  on  Her  Mirror,  held  before  them 
Where'er  they  turn,  and  read  the  days  of  pale  de 
sires, 
They  see  the  silent  tears  of  loves  that  still  adore 

them, 

Burn  their  hollow  flesh  with  slow  decay  of  smoul 
dering  fires, 

They  yearn  for  love,  and  hate  Her  lust, — 
Man  longs  to  leave  Her,  but  ever  shall  return  till 
man  is  dust. 

Pearls   that  shine   thro'   Ocean's   deepest   caves  are 

dowered 
Mortal,   on    thy   earthly    love,    fair   as   gleams   the 

morning 

Slanted  thro'  our  halls  of  amythest;  deflowered 
43 


Shall  all  our  gardens  be,  to  blossom  her  as  warn 

ing 

Mortals  who  despoil  the  Sea, 
She  shall  wear  them,  and  wearing  give  thy  soul  to 

Me. 

Gaze,  O  man  of  Upper  Air,  on  Me  and  wonder 
On  my  loveliness  that  blooms  down  here  forever, 
Gaze,  I  give  thy  mortal  pearls,  and  rend  asunder 
Love  of  her  pure  soul  forever,  thou  shalt  never 
Gaze  upon  her  flesh  again — 
Gaze  O  mortal,  for  thy  agony  shall  be  in  vain." 

Ah  Sidonia,  lost  Sidonia,  She  has  lured 
Me  deeper,  downward,  ever  deeper,  and  the  magic 
Oh  Her  mirror  is  a  pain  that  cannot  be  endured ; 
Silence,  seeing, — seeing,  silence,  all  the  tragic 
Mystery  of  soundless  deeds 

Haunts  me,  holds  me,  mocks  me   thro'   Her  livid, 
living  weeds. 

Far   above    I    heard    the   waves  shout   hoarse   with 

thund'rous 

Bellowings  of  wrath,  like  some  huge  monster  foiled 
Of  all  his  rushing  prey  of  waters,  soft  the  won 
drous 

Hope  of  Upper  Air  was  wan  thro'  weeds  despoiled 
Of  purple  clustered  wealth  of  blooms 
Torn  late  away  to  grace  Her  cursed  halls  and  brid 
al  rooms. 

Forth  alone  I  wandered,  adown  vast  ocean  avenues, 
Ominously  peaceful,  and  beheld  before  me 
The  wonder  of   a   Mirror   imaged   not   with    Sea- 
views, 

44 


Round,  and  crystal  void,  its  polished  surface  bore 

me 

Not  in  countenance  or  form, 
But  floated  on,  till  suddenly,  acloud  with  shadowed 

storm 

It  writhed  and  throbbed  in  Nature's  tortured  rend 
ing, 

There  I  saw  a  sand  of  desert  lashed  in  awful  splen 
dor — 

Of  simoon-billowed  shrouds  and  palm  oasis  blend 
ing 

O'er  my  lost  Sidonia, — "Gods  of  Tyre  defend  her, 

Oh  Gods  destroy  her  agony — 

For  I  am  powerless  here  in  thy  accursed,  silent  sea." 

O  Moloch,  all  thy  molten  stones  and  iron  were 
cooler 

Than  these  waters'  seething,  moveless  hell ;  and 
fairer 

Thou,  Medusa,  than  Her  Mirror,  when  my  Ruler 

Makes  all  void:  Oh!  would  winds  and  waves  en 
snare  Her 

In   Her  strangling  weeds,  control 

Her  breath  unnatural,  smother,  stifle  all  Her  soul. 

Ever  from  my  sight  the  buoyant  round  receded, 
Now  a  pictured  second's  hell,  and  now  a  dreariness 
Of  empty  ills  imagined :  how  I  moaned  and  pleaded 
Oh,  my  wan  Sidonia  for  you,  till  a  weariness 
O'ercame  my  speech  and  froze  me  dumb, 
Motionless    of    limbs    awaiting    nameless    woes    to 
come. 


45 


Death   and    Life,    despair   and   joy,    strove    but    to 

master 

Only  you  within  Her  Mirror,  sadly  drooping 
Like  a  lotus  wilted:     Oh,  might  but  Death  outlast 

Her 

In  the  end,  and  could  I  see  you  gently  stooping 
Down  from  Heaven,  with  loving  thought 
To  raise  me,  all  these  tortured  ages  were  as  empty 

nought. 

Fond    Sidonia,    long   you   mourned   me,   long   your 

weeping 
Drops  of  heavenly  rain  woke  Mirrored  spring  of 

sympathy ; 

Long  you  trusted,  till  your  tears  another's  keeping 
Stopped  forever,  with  a  lone  and  lasting  misery, 
That  may  not  weep,  but  alway  hide 
A  secret  sadness  for  a  loneliness  that  shall  abide. 

How   I   longed   and   strove,   and   vainly  prayed   to 

warn   you 

Of  the  deadly,  bitter  fruit  of  that  espousal,  mocking 
With  its  barrenness  of  earthy  love  to  scorn  you 
Thro'  eternal  ages,  and  the  future  rocking 
Tearless,  armlocked,  of  a  grief 
Forever  doomed  to  smile,  and  reft  of  silent  tears' 

relief. 

But    Her   Mirror   showed   you    roaming   thro'    the 

wildly 

Calm  and  lovely  Tyrian  gardens,  with  another 
Wooing  lover,  and  you  gazed  on  him  all  mildly — 
I  had  perished — O  Astarte,  Tyrian  mother, 
Guide  her,  guide,  guide  her  now — 
She    has   neither    friend    nor    lover,    only    Mother, 

Thou. 

46 


Slow  you  turned  on  him  a  strange  regard  of  haunted 
Melancholy,  slow  you  seemed  to  prove  his  pleading 
In  that  leaden  look:  till  rude  arose  and  taunted 
All  his  visioned  love,  and  wounded  memory  bleed 
ing 

New,  remembered  love  of  me, 
And   I  saw  your  semblance  lorn  thro'  coldly  vast 
eternity. 

Down  thro'  voiceless  waters  came  the  sound,  ca 
resses 

Wing  upon  the  air:  tho'  you  dreamed  "Hereaf- 
ter"- 

In  his  loathly  touch,  still  the  head  that  presses 

On  your  bosom  now — is  his,  and  lover's  laughter 

His  forever;  seek,  ah  fair 

Sidonia,  not  my  cold  soul  in  heaven,  it  cannot  enter 
there. 

Oh  the  dreary  days  of  Mirrored  life  were  sadder 

Far  than  languid  song  of  hopeless  birds  grown 
tired 

By  golden  bars  confined ;  thy  hidden  struggles  mad 
der 

Far  than  theirs,  or  e'er  the  broken  soul  aspired 

To  beat  love's  hallowed  air,  a  chain 

Of  hope  or  dreaded  duty  drew  it  bounden  down 
again. 

Oft  you  wandered  lone  at  night  along  resounding 
Shores  of  many  moonlight  lands,  sore  distressed 
Of  brow  and  heart  at  Ocean's  portents  fell  abound 
ing 

On  the  brooded  beach,  your  senses  rich  oppressed 
With  wealth  of  weighty  pearls,  strewn 
47 


Beneath   your  feet,   the   Sea  Queen's  gift  glowing 
with  the  moon. 

Endless  leagues  across  the  void  of  stony  ocean 
Floor  I  followed  Her  mirage,  and  sought  to  greet 

you 

Where  you  stood  in  agony  of  still  devotion 
With  a  love  that  dared  not  words;  could  I  meet 

you 

There?  for  I  was  doomed  to  roam 
Unheard  and  lost  beneath  the  waves'  white  wilder 
ness  of  foam. 

Kind    Remorse,   prolong   thy   pangs,   devouring  me 

forever, 

Let  me  live  those  Mirrored  hours  again,  disdain  me 
Not  to  suffer,  and  triumphant  let  me  sever 
Memory  of  him,  her  spouse,  nor  restrain  me 
In  thy  agony,  so  I 
Forget  that  still  he  loves  her,  and  that  I  can  never 

die. 

Lost  Sidonia,  dead  Sidonia,  could  he  follow 
You  beyond  the  tomb?    For  I  saw  you  thither 
Yearn  with  joyful  sighs;  wan  Sidonia,  hollow 
Grew  your  eyes,  and  lo,  I  saw  your  roses  wither 
In  their  loveliness;  cloud 

O'erswept  your  brow;  and  all  your  bridal  raiment 
fell  a  shroud. 

Hot  as  glowing  coals  the  asphodel  of  Heaven 
Burned  your  pilgrim  feet,  as  ever  on  you  sought  me 
Thro'  the  desert  meadows,  up  and  down  the  seven 
Heavens,   singing   softly   lovers'    songs   you   taught 
me, 

48 


To  recall  my  wayward  soul, 

Trusting,  calling,  hoping  that  your  love  could  make 
me  whole. 

Sore  bewildered,  baffled  soul  confused  with  aching 
Misery,  you  climbed  the  languorous  slopes  immortals 
Roamed  upon,  till  all  outwearied,  hope  forsaking 
Down  by  sunless  floods  you  sought  the  dusky  por 
tals 

Of  the  underdeath,  with  fear 

And   hope   to   find   me   there:   The   Shadow   Halls 
were  barren  drear. 

Thence  thro'  voiceless,  vast  abysses  where  the  star 
light 

Never  shines  to  bound  high  solitude,  cast  away 
Upon    the    soundless    crumbling    shores    of    Time, 

where  a  death-blight 

Brooded  over  dawnless  chasms,  soon  a  wild  dismay 
Seized  upon  your  soul,  to  rend  and  tear 
Your  inmost  being  out,  for  Love  had  never  wander 
ed  there. 

Back  to  hated  paradise  you  stole  to  wait  him, 
Your  appointed  mate  for  galling  love  eternal : 
Oh  that  Hell  would  yawn  and  open  to  unmate  him, 
So  that  he  enwound  with  heaven's  vernal 
Flowers  should  groping  fall  to  jaws 
Of  death,  to  drown  where  fire  with  sullen  roar  of 
flame  withdraws. 

Now,  Sidonia,  you  are  mourning,  silent  stroking 
Back   his   loathed   immortal   hair,   with  writhes  of 

laughter, 

While  the  Mirror  still  I  follow,  wild  invoking 
49 


Gods  and  friends  to  bless  me  blind,  or  kinder,  waft 

Her 

Death  on  carrion  wings;  but  She 
Is  still  enthroned,  and  shall  be  all  eternity. 

Still  the  Queen  enwreathes  me  with   Her  fadeless 

roses, 

Still  She  haunts  my  soul  with  melodies  of  dreaming 
Lover's  music,  and  Her  luring  form  reposes 
Lithe  on  languid  lilies,  fair  in  seeming, 
Culled  from  some  deep  ocean  dell — 
False  in  their  perfume,  ensnaring  as  the  fumes  of 

hell. 

Dazed  I  gaze  in  wonder,  gloat  Her  face  and  beauty, 
Strange,  unnatural,  till  faint  with  loathing  terror 
I  turn  and  flee  from  out  Her  halls  of  cursed  duty; 
Then  Her  wrath  of  injured  lust  recalls  the  Mirror, 
Brings  me  tortured  back  to  gaze 
Anew  upon  Her  awful  splendor,  yielding  in  amaze. 

Granite  grey  are  now  Her  eyes  that  once  were 
azure, 

Hemlock  were  a  sweeter  draught  than  all  the  nectar 

Of  Her  clinging  kiss,  and  endless  toils  were  pleas 
ure 

Dearer  than  Her  fond  embrace,  when  She  has  deck 
ed  Her 

Lust  in  pearls  and  loving  weeds, 

To  riot  wild  in  orgy  of  Her  shameless  passion's 
deeds. 

"Dive  for  pearls,"  you  said,  Sidonia,  "Dive,"  I 
found  them, 

50 


Here,   I   found  the  Queen  of  All  the  Pearls,  and 

wooed  Her; 
She   was   kind,   and   gave  you    pearls,    Herself   she 

wound  them 
Round  your  bosom ;  nor  have  wanton  I  withstood 

Her 

In  Her  loving  kindness;  I 
Am  Hers  forever,  and  Her  chosen  loves  may  never 

die. 

Winds,  if  ye  know  voices,  Sea,  if  thou  a  calling, 
Ocean,  if  thou  aught  of  message  to  hail  Her, 
Let  the  waves  and  all  their  demon's  grim  enthrall 
ing 

Bind  Her  fleeting  shadow :  let  no  gods  avail  Her 
In  the  mastery  of  Death, 

Let  Her  choke  and  strangle  in  Her  waters,  fight 
ing  breath. 


ONE  DAY 

A    SONG 

Clear  is  the  evening  star 

With  a  still,  sad  light, 

But   the  eyes  of  my  love  are  clearer 

Than  crystal  spheres  of  night. 

Compassionate   from   afar 
The  star  is  chill  and  drear, 
More  merciful,  and  nearer 
My  love  alone  is  dear. 

Sad  as  the  evening  star 

With  the  sins  and  the  sorrows  of  men — 

My  beloved's  eyes  are  dearer 

To  one  who  errs  again. 

I  have  worshipped  my  love  from  afar 
With  her  clear  kind  eyes — 
No  love  of  mine  shall  sear  her 
Till  yonder  seraph  dies. 

FOREVER 

The  Suns  may  wheel  and  madly  reel 

To  wrack  forevermore 
So  Love's  white  altar  where  \\  e  kneel 

Be  still  ours  to  adore; 
The  change  of  heavens,  their  ruined  rush 

Adown  the  firmament 
Shall  be  an  evening-song  to  hush 

Our  love  to  life's  content. 


Let  all  the  rocks  and  riven  trees 

That  drank  the  Lightnings'  rage, 
Take  tongue,  and  testify  that  these 

Can  sear  but  still  assuage: 
The  fires  of  seven  heavens  are  one 

To  him  who  breathes  and  loves, 
He  knows,  and  would  forget  the  Sun 

For  Venus  and  her  doves. 

Let  all  the  whispering  air  and  brooks 

Forget  their  melody, 
Let  dusty  sages  and  their  books 

Be  dust  eternally 
If  I  forget  a  word  of  thine — 

A  whispered  word  of  sigh, — 
If  I  forget  thy  love  is  mine, 

Then  let  me  loveless  die. 

Afar  we  watch  a  crystal  star 

That  throbs  tonight  alone, 
It  shines,  to  glimmer  o'er  the  bar 

Where  timeless  oceans  moan ; 
The  flaming  waves  it  lights  shall  break 

In  utter  death,  ere  thou 
Shalt  turn  from  me,  and  chill  forsake 

This  drop  upon  thy  brow. 

WHERE? 

Where  would  you  be  tonight, 
Where,  if  the  Slave  were  free? 
Were  the  sad  eyes  young  and  bright- 
Where  would  you  be? 


53 


Under  the  stars  with  him? — 
Silent  as  they  are  still? 
Ah,  but  those  eyes  are  dim, 
And  the  night  grows  chill. 

In  the  autumn  woods  with  her? — 
When  the  breeze  blows  soft  as  her  breath  ? 
Hush, — the  answering  fir 
Is  gray  in  death. 

Where  would  he  be  tonight, 
Were  breath  on  his  lips  again? 
Does  he  watch  their  anguished  flight — 
These  birds  of  pain  ? 

Her  dreams  alone  for  you, 
There  where  her  lot  is  cast? — 
Her  tears  this  kindly  dew- 
Is  her  woe  passed? 

Where  will  we  go  tonight? — 
To  seek  for  a  bygone  day? 
Wearied  of  life's  delight 
Here  let  us  stay. 

IN    THE    GARDEN 

I  wove  you  a  wreath  and  plucked  you  a  rose — 

A  rose  and  a  wreath  for  your  hair, 
And  it  drooped  on  your  brow  in  a  lorn  repose, 

Sighing  and  lingering  there, 
Till  it  yearningly  mingled  its  soul  with  yours 

In  a  fragrant  stillness  of  prayer; 
Now — the   whispered   peace  of   that  scent   endures 

Tho'  the  rose  is  dead  in  despair. 
54 


"Do  you  love  me  now — will  you  love  me  then?"- 

"Forevermore,"  you  said — 
"If  I  wing  away,  I  will  flutter  again 

To  you  from  the  Garden  of  Death ;" 
Was  that  far-off  sound  but  the  day's  chill  sign 

Or  the  ghostly  steps  of  a  dread — 
Ah — ever   no — love   cannot   die — 

Tho'  I  turned  and  found  you — dead. 

Oh  the  Garden  then,  and  the  wilderness  now 

Are  fair  as  the  garland  you  wore, 
And  the  weary  moon  is  pale  as  your  brow 

With  the  sorrowing  love  you  bore ; 
For  if  ever  you  saw  a  swallow  skim, 

Or  ever  a  skylark  soar, 
You  dreamed  of  an  angel's  eyes  grown  dim 

With  tears  forevermore. 

But  the  Moon  has  gone  and  Night  reigns  Queen, 

So  the  roses  and  weeds  are  one, 
While  I  listen  in  awe  to  the  wings  unseen 

That  whirr  in  the  realms  of  the  Sun ; 
Hush!     A  swallow  seems  to  cleave  the  air 

With  a  freedom  scarce  begun, 
And  I  know,  my  love,  your  rose  blooms  there, 

And  the  long  night  watch  is  done. 

TRYST 

I  see  thy  smile  in  every  brook 
That  lures  with  dimpled  light, 

I  feel   thine  eyes  on  every  book 
I  pore  the  wTeary  night. 


55 


I  hear  thy  voice  in  every  moan 

Of  winter's  watery  wail  ; 
Oh  God,  my  Love,  art  thou  alone 

Beyond    Elysium's   pale  ? 

Why  dost  thou  call? — I  cannot  hear 
What  thing  thou  bidst  me  do, 

My  soul  is  sharp  with  shrinking  fear — 
I  could  not,  if  I  knew. 

Am   I   a  ghoul   to  writhe  with   thee 

In  witches'  revelry, 
Hell's  outcast  to  feast  with  thee 

In   loathly   devilry? 

I  fear  thy  icy,  vampire  breath 
That   blows   across  thy   face; 

Why  dost  thou  wander  far  in  death 
From  God's  appointed  place? 

I  hear  thy  piteous  voice  behind 
My  words  in  lonely  halls, 

Thy  cere-clothes  drape  my  deadened  mind 
With  dankly  rotting  palls. 

How  oft  that  dear  voice  called  to  me 

At  day's  declining  light, 
To  call  me  'neath  our  cypress  tree — 

I'll   meet  thee  there   to-night! 

DESPAIR 

All  day  I  sit  enthroned  in  ashes;  dust 
Defiles  the  ragged  grayness  of  my  hair, 
My  steady  eyes,  with  stony,  lightless  glare 
56 


Gaze  ever  on  thy  works  with  grim  distrust; 
Thy  will  is  water,  Man,  thy  love  is  lust, 

All  yearning  ends  in  Me,  thy  Queen,  Despair; 

Look  forth  for  sympathy,  my  gaze  is  there ; 
Trust  not  the  blue  of  steel — it  rots  to  rust: — 

Build  ye  with  stone,  and  I'll  not  overthrow, 
But  make  thy  palace  mine,  and  entering  in 
Will  dwell  with  thee.     Men  call  me  harsh;  not 
so, 

I'm  kept,  thy  darling  sweetness,  ripe  with  sin; 
Thy  prophet  said — "Then  reap  ye  as  ye  sow" — 
Begin  in  lust,  and  end  as  ye  begin. 

FORGOTTEN 

If  there  be  nought  to  do, 

No  gentler  word  to  say, 
Then  let  the  kind  earth  cover  me — 

I   would  not  stay. 

The  Sun  is  a  smiling  fiend, 

And  the  Moon  but  his  paramour; 

If  there  be  nought  to  do, 
I  hate  the  day. 

Then  let  the  cold  earth  cover  me, 
The  last  wheat  wisp  is  gleaned ; 

This  thing  e'en  I  may  do — 
Make  green  the  grass. 

No  little  word  to  say? — 

Could  not  one  hour  endure? — 

Then  let  the  cold  earth  cover  me, 
I'll  hear  thee  pass. 
57 


Here  in  my  cosy  cell 

I  lie  and  dream  of  her, 
The  gold  wheat's  waving  overhead, 

And  all  is  well. 

I  drowse  and  dream  the  whole  day  long 

In  my  narrow,  hermit  cell, — 
But  list — was  that  a  song? 

Ah,  all  is  well. 

— So  narrow  I  cannot  stir, 

And  the  rippling  wheat  waves  over  my  bed, 
But  I  lie  and  dream  of  her, 

So  all  is  well. 

Ah  yes,  she  is  singing,  I  hear 

Her  footsteps  over  my  head — 
Does  she  kneel  and  think  by  my  bed — 

Alas,  it  is  not  well? 


BESIDE  THE  SEA 

THE    CALLING    OF    THE    SEA 

I  heard  the  awful  calling  of  the  Sea, 

"Come,  come  and  be  at  rest  with  me, 

Come,  for  I  am  Time,  Eternity, 

Come,  for  I  have  neither  Isle  nor  Shore 

Within  my  soul,  come  from  sullen  sod 

And  heavy  clinging  air  forevermore — 

Come,  for  I  am  what  thou  namest  God." 

I  turned  and  fled  before  the  yearning  waves 

Far-reaching  ghostly  arms  to  draw  me  down 

The    long,    green   slopes   of   death   so    falsely    fair ; 

All  hell  seemed  opening  in  a  million  graves, 

Whose  broken  wails  rose  up  with  tears  to  drown 

The  wild  Sea's  undertone  of  false  despair. 

CHANCE 

There  was  a  Cavern  by  the  nether  Sea, 

So,  fretted  out  with  tracking  barren  sand 

And   hearing  tongues  no  man  may  understand, 

I    entered    there,   and    flung   me   wearily 

To  utter  slumber. 

There  hung  no  dreams  within  that  restful  cave, 
I  heard  no  tongue  berate  the  sullen  air, 
The  chilly  echoes  whispered   everywhere, 
And  far  away  I  heard  the  wavelets  lave 
Their  solemn  granite. 

Afar   the   entrance   gleamed,   a  sparkling  blue, 
A  little  window  on  the  flashing  deep, 

59 


A  rift  upon  the  world  through  clouds  of  sleep, 
There  Ocean's  living  spirit   glimmered   through 
In  quick  pulsations. 

'Twas  silver  noon,  I  felt  the  tides  recede; 
A  caverned  wind   rushed  past,  refreshing,  cool, 
But  in  the  Cave  there  stayed  a  shallow  Pool 
Whereon  the  dungeoned  breezes  lately  freed 
Wove  wondrous  patterns. 

As  one  whose  nightly  eyes  were  not  unused 
To  sphered  mysteries,  I  watched  the  dancing  day 
Divide  and  wheeling  dart  in  subtle  play ; 
Within  the  Pool  were  met  all  dreams  diffused 
Thro'  blue  translucence. 

(What  opalescent  wonders  shed  their  sheen 
On  ever-changing  sands  of  moving  gold. 
What  wind-swept  glades  may  inner  eyes  behold 
In  rippled  tide-left  pools  whose  silvered  green 
Is  shot  with  sunshine.) 

A  momentary   Presence  hushed   the  dance, 
The  Pool  shone  smooth  as  hot  obsidian  glass ; 
From  rim  to  rim  I  watched  a  white  cloud  pass 
And  pondered  on  the  triple  sport  of  chance  — 
The  quiet,  cloud,  my  vision: 

How  many  clouds  or  high  or  low 

Must  tramp  the  vault  beyond  the  Cavern's  door 

Ere  one  may  brighten  waters  on  its  floor 

Or  light  this  Pool,  no  mortal  mind  may  know,- 

I  saw  the  marvel. 


60 


The  imaged  cloud  became  a  memory, 

I  sank  upon  the  sand  as  I  would  sleep; 

The  Cave  was  dreamless,  thus  I  strove  to  keep 

Some  shadow  of  the  cloud  for  reverie 

In  slumberlands. 

A  shadow  dimmed  the  Cavern's  farther  wall 
A  deeper  shade  upon  the  granite's  gray, 
'Twas  not  the  semblance  of  the  light  of  day, 
'Twas  not  the  hint  of  evening's  iron  pall 
Nor  yet  of  slumber: 

It  was  the  seeming  of  an  Ancient  One — 
Made  venerable  more  by  thought  than  years, 
The  titan  brow  was  seared,  but  not  by  fears 
Of  changeless  night  or  any  changing  Sun — 
It  was  not  temporal. 

Besides  the  Pool  I  watched  the  Ancient  brood 
On  triple  chance  of  stillness,  man,  and  cloud; 
He  gave  no  sign,  altho'  I  spoke  aloud 
The  Name  I  deemed  was  His;  He  understood 
But  silence. 

He  motioned  for  the  breeze  to  breathe  again, 
His  eyes  intent  upon  the  Pool  now  dead 
And  awful  as  his  own  age-hoaried  head  ; 
Tho'  long,  he  knows  his  waiting  is  not  vain 
Who  hath  all  wisdom. 

The  tide  returning  boomed  a  sudden  gust 
That  shook  the  stagnant  waters;  mimic  strife 
Of  smitten  seas  endued  the  Pool's  deep  life 
With  motion's  imagery,  as  'twere  the  dust 
Of  nameless  nations. 

61 


Once  more  I  saw  the  wondrous  patterned  light, 
The  myriad  circles  weaving  mysteries 
Profound  as  all  the  deeps  of  undreamed  seas — 
A  miracle  of  symmetry,  a  pure  delight 
Of  harmony. 

All  wisdom  waited  for  the  circles'  weft, 
The  Ancient  bent  his  brows  in  labored  thought, 
Here  moved  the  riddle's  answer  he  had  sought; 
The  idle  surface  was  a  soul,  of  mind  bereft 
And  without  meaning. 

Long  he  pondered  there,  a  ghostly  dream, 
Majestic  as  the  mind  of  Thought  his  gaze 
On  what  to  me  was  Chance,  for  him  a  maze 
Of  meaning, — every  circle's  transient  gleam 
For  him  was  ordered. 

'Twas  night  without  the  Cave,  the  waning  moon 
Cast  one  chill  ray  upon  the  Pool ;  a  breeze 
Awoke  and  startled  fled  to  living  seas 
Dismayed  at  luminiscent-spectered  noon, 
Fled  unconsoled. 

I    woke,    (for   He   had   long  since  vanished),   rose 
And  strode  without  the  ghastly  vacant  Cave, 
(Before  the  Ancient  came  'twas  not  a  grave)  ; 
I  walked  upon  the  Beach  where  ever  flows 
And  ebbs  infinity. 

By  night  I  watch  the  widening  circles  now 

On    riffled   waters, — myriad    interplay 

Of  days  uncountable,  and  see  the  gray 

Of  granite  dimly  through  a  furrowed  Brow — 

A  spectral  Ancient's. 

62 


Perchance  I'll  creep  within  that  Master  Mind  ; 
The  ceaseless  play  of  chance  is  ordered  Law; 
A  breeze  upon  the  waters  works  the  awe 
Unceasingly,   could    I    but   rise   and    find 
Above  my  thought,  a  Higher. 

IN   THE    FIELD    BY   THE   SEA 

There   is   brine   in   the   crystal   air,   and   the  scythe 

gleams  bright 
In  the  sea-girt  field,  where  the  ripe  corn  waiting 

stands, 

Or  bends  with  a  rippling  smile  at  the  kisses  light 
Of  the  wayward  summer  breeze;  and  the  glisten 
ing  sands 
Curve  far  away  to  the  hills'  blue  mistiness. 

The  day  is  a  song  in  that  field  by  the  Sea,  till  night 
Makes  all  hues  one ;  oh  the  heart  is  young,  when 

hand 
Clasps   hand    in    the   seaward    field, — the    hand    of 

might 

And  the  trusting  hand,— for  a  romp  on  the  moon 
lit   strand, 

Or  a  walk  thro'  the  field's  wild  winter  wilderness. 

******** 

The  scythe  is  lost  and  eaten  with  rust 
For  the  reapers  have  gone  to  rest, 

And  the  heart  is  broken  and  crumbled  to  dust — 
A  ribald  night- wind's  jest. 


HOPE 

Doubt,  is  your  groan  my  all ; 

Man,  am  I  not  with  you; 

Was  his  thirst  slaked  with  gall, 

Life,  O  Life? 

Is  every  debt  yet  due, 

Life,  harsh  Life? 

Aye,  must  it  ever  be  'nay'  ; 
Wrong,  will  there  never  be  right; 
Night, — will  it  ever  be  day, 
Hope,  O  Hope?— 
Is  no  noon  born  in  night, 
Hope,  dead  Hope? 

Gilt  has  been  all  my  gold, 

Ashes  my  grandest  feast; 

My  deepest  seas  were  shoaled, 

Thought,  O  Thought; 

From  hope  have  you  never  ceased, 

Thought,  weak  Thought? 

Gilt? — and  a  silver  sheen 

Still  shimmers  the  sun-proud  sea? 

Ashes? — the  grass  grows  green, 

Thought,   O  Thought; 

Let  the  weakest  blade  be  me, 

Thought,  kind  Thought. 

Nay,  it  is  ever  an  'aye'; 
Not  night  was  made  for  men. 
Why  should  I  scorn  to  die, 
Hope,  O  Hope? 
Unfinished?    I'll  stature  Then, 
Hope,  vast  Hope? 
64 


Doubt? — for  a  weakling  made; 
Doubt  when  the  flowers  paint  dust 
That  was  flesh  but  last  decade, 
Life,  O  Life? 
In  you  I'll  be  one,  I  trust, 
Life,  calm  Life. 

THE  SOUL 

At  first  a  broken  murmur,  then  a  sigh, 

A  sob  at  parting  from  the  sheltering  deep, 

And  then  the  weary  wave,  content  to  die, 
Ebbs  back,  to  merge  itself  eternally. 

HAIL 

Hail  vast  Ocean,  wide  soul  of  me, 

My  tired-out  brain  shall  at  last  blow  free; 

Down  the  flowerless  blue  of  your  blossoming  deep — 

There  will  I  sleep. 

Burn  my  body  and  scatter  the  ash 
Where  the  white  waves  shelter  and  shatter  to  dash 
Their  quivering  brine  on  the  spume-seethed  sea — 
Green  grave  for  me. 

With  you  I  am  one,  in  waves  would  I  lie; 
I'd  hark  to  the  winds  in  the  Time-stilled  sky; 
'Neath  numerous  stars  like  my  atoms'  number 
I'd  toss  to  slumber. 

Hail  vast  Ocean,  life's  last  for  me, 
Billow  me,  drown  me  Eternity; 
Under  me  waters  moving, — not  dead, — 
Stars  overhead. 

65 


GNOMES'-GOLD 

In  the  still  and  mossy  places 

Where  the  wings  of  the  tired-out  wind  fold 
Down  on  the  flowers'  tired  faces 

Drowsing  their  dreams  for  the  Plain, 
Is  a  Mine  of  the  moon-glimmered   Gnomes'-Gold. 

Here  in  the  violet  chases 

Where  the  groundling  mice  and  the  elves  hold 
Lusty   revels  and   races — 

Safe  from  the  pattering  rain, 
Glows  the  cave  for  the  pollen-light  Gnomes'-Gold. 

They  said   that  the  Lilies'   graces 

Were  pilfered  from  under  the  leafmould  ; 

'Twas  false,  for  a  zephyr's  embraces — 
(Fond   as  the   Lily  was   fain), 

Had  dusted  her  anthers  with  Gnomes'-Gold. 


66 


EARLY  SUMMER 

The  first  mad  mouse  is  here  again, 
The  clover  is  his  and  the  fresh  green  grain, 
He  strokes  his  whiskers  in  fat  content — 
Lord  of  the  fields  and  the  firmament. 

Rich  as  a  Jew  he  will  get  him  a  wife, 
For  the  life  of  the  mouse  is  abundant  life ; 
He  will  harvest  his  crop  and  build  him  a  nest, 
In  a  palace  of  moss  will  he  take  his  rest. 

His  acres  are  broad  and  his  paunch  is  round, 
The  pipe  of  his  children  a  pleasing  sound; 
He  is  lord  of  the  summer,  and  all  is  peace — 
May  his  pink  young  tribe  and  his  crops  increase. 


67 


TO  A  BEE 

There  lies  your  velvet  body,  stark  and  cold 
Beside  the  very  flowers  you  jesting  robbed — 
Still  powdered  gay  with  all  your  guilty  gold, 
You  haunt  the  silent  air  that  gladly  throbbed 
A  little  hour  ago.     Did  some  cruel  bird 
This  heartless  wrong,  to  dash  your  happy  head 
Against  a  stone? — But  yesterday  I  heard 
Your  busy  hum,  and  now — you  lie  there  dead. 

Who  could  make  war  on  you? — The  roses  all 
Forgave  the  tawdry  dross  you  bandit  took, — 
Ah,  they  would  shower  a  thousand  Springs  to  call 
You  back  to  song  again ;  your  daisies  look 
With  dewy  eye  upon  your  huddled  form, 
And  plead  with  summer  for  their  gayest  friend, — 
Must  love  then  die,  ere  spring  forgets  the  storm 
Of  winter's  death,  and  flit  ere  sorrows  end  ? 

Alas,  old  plunderer!    Your  tiny  day 

Is  done;  but  some  remember  you — for  see! 

The  bashful  Rose  you  wooed  across  the  way 

Deflowers  her  maiden  petals  lovingly, 

To  shroud  you  with  her  tender  white  from  eyes 

Of  prying  ants,  and  ghoulish  beetles,  who 

Creep  by  in  death's  unhallowed  search,  and  flies,— 

Gray  dullards — come  to  triumph  over  you. 


68 


Aye,  stilled,  but  not  forgotten  is  your  song; 
The  loving  Sun  has  willed  his  kindest  ray 
To  warm  your  blossom  dream  of  summers  long 
In  fields  where  winter  never  woos  the  May, 
That  you  may  kiss  each  willing  bud,  and  drink 
The  sweet  from  countless  cups,  or  lazy  roam 
The  starry  thyme  on  some  clear  river's  brink, 
And  dream  the  drowsy  days  away — at  Home! 


69 


TO  A  WOOD  SPRITE 

The  winds  in  the  glen  will  find  you  again 

In  the  budding  soul  of  a  rose, 
Where  our  roguish  thrush  and  our  peering  wren 

With  our  mice  in  the  leafy  close 
E'en  seek  you  still  by  lake  and  rill — 

Ah,  seek,  but  they  cannot  find. 

My  wayward  sprite,  so  aery  light 

That  bluebells  scarcely  bent 
'Neath  your  merry  chase  at  hush  of  night 

When  the  moths  were  all  but  spent, — 
Have  you  flitted  away  from  the  dusty  day? — 

Yes, — the  noon  is  heavier  now. 

Did  a  chilling  grief  frost  up  the  leaf 
That  cupped  your  morning  dew, 

Or  did  you  hide  from  the  feathered  thief 
Who  stole  that  grape  from  you  ? 

Let  thief  and  frost  be  ever  lost 
In  an  azure  prison  field. 

Did  a  bumble  bee  from  over  the  lea 
Then  chase  you  away  from  home?— 

That  dusty  one — what,  was  it  he?— 
I'll  send  the  policeman  Gnome 

And  make  him  work  like  any  Turk 
To  brew  you  honey  dew. 

We  will  find  you  again,  the  bee  and  I, 

And  feed  you  delectable  bread 
While  a  jealous  mouse  creeps  humbly  by 

With  sadly  diminished  head ; 
We  will  find  you  here  in  the  green  glad  year 

Under  a  trilium  leaf. 
70 


THE  MARRIAGE  OF  MORNING 

There  swelled  a  sound  in  the  Vastness, 
Dispassionate  over  all  weeping,  supreme 
O'er  the  silence  of  Time  and  impregnable  fastness 
Of  uttermost  Space;  'twas  a  voice  of  the  lone  God's 

dream: 
"Harken  O  Dawns,  ye  Mothers  of  Mornings  who 

fear  me, 
Ye  Daughters  of  Dawns,  whose  feet  are  a  fleeting 

gleam 

Of  light  on  the  shivering  waters,  revere  me — 
Whose  merciful  might  thy  Mothers  have  known, — 
Not  I  have  begotten  thy  grieving, 
My  prayer  was  never  a  moan ; 
In   the  end   all   Dawns  draw  near  me 
Sighing,   'Thy  wings  are  best:' 
Bold  Noon  is  a  semblance  deceiving 
Thy  light  from  the  aisles  of  rest ; 
For  a  season   insidious   Noon   shows   larger,   seems 

better; 

By  his  golden  raiment  my  crown  is  as  broken  stone, 
So  Morn's  free  Daughters  beholding,  forget  her, 
Forsake  her,  and  follow  false  Noon  alone, 
Drawn  after  by  Love's  iron  fetter. 

Though  my  wisdom  mourns  long,  unheeded, 
And  the  Days  troop  into  green  meadows  to  feast, 
At  last  shall  a  calmer  refrain  I  have  pleaded 
Above  the  revels,  ring  on  when  all  song  has  ceased : 
I  sing  of  a  vaster  Meadow  whose  brook  is  a  River, 
Where  days  and  their  fallen  hours  float  slowly,  the 

least 

Of  my  ruined  flowers,  for  I  am  the  giver 
To  Dawn  of  her  breeze  and  her  sudden  fire: 
71 


How  should  my  Dawn  remember 

Those  Meads  where  all  hopes  respire, 

Or  the  quickly  shuddering  quiver 

Of  despair  washed  over  anew, — 

Or  red  hate's  sullen  ember 

Quenched  clean  in  my  River's  blue? 

For  my  face  is  the  shadow  of  flame,  a  wonder  be 
clouded 

By  manifold  marvels  of  Morning's  unuttered  de 
sire  ; 

My  name  is  a  music  of  mystery  crowded 

With  meanings  outnumbering  the  chords  of  lyre, — 

But  the  Player's  hand  is  enshrouded. 

Mine  is  the  wind  in  the  rushes, 

Mine  is  the  murmur  that  rustles  the  reed, 

Trembling  a  music  the  wild  Night  hushes 

Where  she  presses  her  head  on  the  thyme  and  the 
poppy  seed; 

Mine  all  the  laughter  far-echoing  black-vaulted 
thunder 

As  I  flash  through  the  high  storm-halls,  my  light 
nings  freed, 

Cleaving  blue  ether,  and  rending  asunder 

Azure  domes  of  god's  delight: 

Far  on  unwearied  pinions 

With  Dawn  I  glide  all  night, 

And  the  stars  glow  down  their  wonder 

On  our  undulous  even  sweep; 

There,  in  all  suns'  dominions, 

A  dream  of  the  dusk  I  sleep 

Till  the  demons  who  dwell  in  the  fountains  of  fire 
shall  awaken — 


Drenching  the  deeps  with  all  crimson  hues  of  their 

rite — 

Kindling  the  fields  by  stars  forsaken; — 
But  the  flutterless  wings  cleave  on,  pure  white, 
Glide  steadily  on  unshaken. 

Not  I  have  delight  in  thy  sorrow, 
Free  Daughters  of  Dawn, — ye  maidens  sublime 
On  Eternity's  mountains  o'erlooking  the  morrow ; 
My  kingdom  is  over  all  days,  yet  a  vassal  to  Time ; 
Though  ye  rest  in  my  meadows  at  last,  to  his  might 

I  surrender 
What  wonderful  ways  ye  wander,  the  hills  ye  shall 

climb, — 

To  his  wisdom  what  groping  shall  lacerate  tender 
Seekers  for  light  that  endures  within : 
Hear  ye,  and  believe  the  story 
O  Days,  of  one  of  thy  kin — 
The  Morning,  a  maiden,  and  slender, 
Fair  above  sisters  fair, — 
Hers  all  their  promise,  their  glory 
Is  shed  as  rain  on  her  hair: 
She  is  Time's  youngest,  the  darling, — all  light  her 

adorning, — 

Found  from  afar  as  on  fateful  wings  I  win 
Way  to  her  slumber  with  life's  first  warning — 
Till,  as  leaves  unfold,  as  dreams  begin, 
Blossoms  the  Marriage  of  Morning. 

Down  from  those  wings  like  a  feather 
Softly  as  hope  I  fall  on  the  Morn; 
She  stirs  in  the  dews  where  we  waken  together 
Wide  on  a  wondering  world  in  its  light  new-born, 
And  the  lustrous  fire  in  her  eyes  is  desire  unspoken, 
Love  for  a  dawning  day,  for  the  dead  night,  scorn; 
73 


She  dreamed  not  wings  or  their  sweep  unbroken 

Infinite  over  her  marvellous  head ; 

But  the  wings  glide  on  forever 

Though  Dawn  flares  full  and  red, 

And  the  Morn's  lips  plead  as  a  token 

She  longed  all  night  for  love: 

Voice  of  the  winds,  shall  I  sever 

Her  life  for  those  wings  above? 

Kindly  calm  are  the  sea-deep  eyes  of  the  dreamer, 

Pure  and  wide  as  the  eyes  of  a  maid  unwed ; 

O  night!  is  she  only  a  seemer? — 

Whiter  than  wings  with  their  light  unshed, 

Whatever  the  dusk  may  deem  her. 

Real !  and  the  Dawn's,  O  Maiden  ; 

Thine  is  the  whisper  that  wakens  the  trees, 

Shaking  their  branches  with  heavy  dreams  laden, 

Where  danker  than  night  and  bedewed  with  an 
evil  disease 

Hang  batlike,  foul  bodies  asweat  in  an  ichorous 
glowing : 

Thine  is  the  smile  o'erstealing  the  flower-flecked 
leas 

Where  iris  takes  flaunting  life,  her  flags  gaily  flow 
ing 

As  her  braggart  bees  do  battle,  and  chase 

Small  beetles  who  creep  in  to  plunder 

Her  honey-cells'  holiest  place: 

Spirit  of  all  things  growing! 

On  the  undulous  nodding  grass 

Thine  is  the  lissome  wonder 

As  it  waves  to  bid  thee  pass: 

Child  of  the  Dawn,  her  ever  ineffable  daughter, 

Who  has  not  gazed  with  awe  on  thy  lovely  face, 

74 


Morning!  whose  smile  is  as  wind  on  the  water? — 
Of  the  noblest  flowers  her  gentle  race, 
And  her  lore  the  love  they  taught  her. 

Unseen  o'er  an  infinite  Ocean, 

Undreamed  as  death  in  the  Morn's  deep  eyes, 

The  wings  wheel  on  in  their  time-free  motion, 

Steadily  glide  forever,  though  fire  arise 

Till   the  whole  heaven  glows  like  the  heart  of  a 

wide  swung  censer, 
Though  life  and   its  wells  flame   up   as  the  fierce 

night  dies: 

What  should  she  fear  when  desires  in  tenser 
Kindle  her  crystalline  eyes  at  mine, 
What  wings  should  the  Dawn's  free  daughter 
Bow  under  and  know  divine? 
Though  the  crimson  mists  roll  denser 
Than  ever  the  dead  might  knew, 
Shall  Morning  dream  who  brought  her 
Love  from  the  cloudless  blue? 
Though    day    flare    out    and    impalpable    shadows 

thicken 

As  ghostly  bats  till  their  blood  drips  down  like  wine 
Shrivelling  the  grass,  let  his  name  be  stricken 
From  time,  who  slays  his  hope  on  thine, 
O  Morn,  as  thy  pulses  quicken. 

Hush,   for   the   rushes  answer, 

'Love  is  the  summer  whose  full  heat  slays;' 

Swift  as  the  feet  of  a  fairy  dancer, 

Fresher   in    love   and    its   promise   the   young   grass 

sways, — 
'Who  shall  father  the  unborn  hours  of  the  Morn- 

ing?' 

And  the  proud  red  lily  flaunts  her  a  daring  praise — 
75 


'See  where  she  crimsons  at  love's  first  warning!' 

Then,  from  the  loneliest  breeze  on  the  seaward  lea — 

'Let  me  lift  thy  veil  and  follow 

Afar  so  all  winds  may  see 

The  lip  of  the  Dew's  adorning 

Where  thy  breath  plays  warm  and  low ; 

What  spirits  haunt  that  hollow 

Is  a  spell  all  winds  would  know:' 

And   farther  than   all,  as  the  moan   of  a   troubled 

sleeper, 

The  undawned  Sea  takes  solemn  voice,  'Let  me 
Sink  under  her  love  forever,  and  deeper 
Than  any  of  these,  O  Night ;  let  me  be 
As  her  god,  her  tears'  kind  keeper.' 

Have  those  darker  souls  conspired 

That  her  tears  and  her  love  be  a  bitter  thing? 

Shall  the  Daughter  of  Dawn,  our  long  desired 

Hear  only  a  distant  plea  in  its  listless  ring, 

Insistent  as  death's  still  knell,  an  echo  eternal 

Wherever  is  time,  of  Tides,  and  Death  on  the  wing 

Over  smooth  waters  and  meadows  made  vernal 

In  laughter  and  flowers  of  the  living  light? 

As  a  wind-dogged  mist  is  driven 

Ashore  in  its  clinging  white, 

There  speeds  from  the  sea,  supernal 

The  Morning's  mystical  Mate; 

And  the  keen  clear  air  is  riven 

In  tears  at  fear  of  her  fate ; 

For  the  wildness  of  water  and  the  freedom  of  fire 

are  united, — 
Light   wedded    to    Shadow    in    twilight's    unholier 

state ; 
Tall  flowers  and  untrampled  grasses  affrighted 

76 


Cower  down  and  shrivel  in  withering  hate, 
Wilt  under  the  hatred  plighted. 

Who  is  her  sullen  master, 

Arising  unclean  from  the  shuddering  sea? 

Why  should  the  shaken  waves  quake  as  the  blaster 

And  slayer  of  stars  in  the  dawn,  forsakes  them  to 
flee 

A  blight  on  the  sun-loved  land,  and  light's  blas 
phemer 

Whose  breath  is  a  deathly  mist  on  valley  and  lea? 

Who  shall  arise  from  the  water  supremer 

Than  tides  heaped  blue  in  their  mountainous  might, 

From  Ocean's  green  meadows  who  plunders 

Their  aureat  lilies  of  light? 

Dawn  was  a  golden  dreamer 

When  she  visioned  thy  joy,  O  Morn — 

When  she  sowed  all  billows  with  wonders 

Of  an  ever  ungarnered  corn ; 

For  thy  terrible  Lord  shall  harvest  the  billows,  a 
mowing, 

A  slaughter  of  stars  on  the  waters  his  rising,  his 
blight 

Is  the  blasting  of  motion,  cessation  of  flowing 

Where  all  things  flow,  till  the  blossoms  die  white 

In  the  wildered  wake  of  his  going. 

He  comes,  and  his  mists  creep  chiller 

Than  winter's  to  shrivel  the  lilied  land  ; 

As  he  steals  from  the  sea,  keen  shrieks  pierce  shriller 

Than  death's  through  the  stricken  air  from  a  bird's 

crushed  band, 
Where  circling  they  wheel  and  fall,  dead  stones  to 

the  ocean  ; 

First  a  finger,  swiftly  a  ghostlier  hand 
77 


Puts  forth  on  the  grass  a  groper's  light  motion, — 

Morning,  thy  Lord  is  blind! 

Bend,  he  would  touch  thy  tresses, 

Thy  face  would  his  fingers  find ; 

Bow  down  in  thy  humble  devotion 

Free  spirit  of  Dawn  grown  meek 

At  the  wonder  of  first  caresses, 

And  a  might  all  maidens  seek ; 

Thine  own  calm  eyes  shall  be  day  to  thy  Lord,  and 

vision  ; 

His  feet  shall  follow  thy  feet  a  way  designed, 
For  his  was  the  choosing  but  thine  the  decision ; 
Let  life  make  a  mock  of  what  love  repined, 
Live,  though  thy  hope  be  derision. 

Was  Night  thy  ruthless  betrayer, 

O  Morning  whose  wondering  eyes  grow  dim 

With  unheeded  desire  at  love's  first  prayer? 

Dank  is  all  dead  love's  passion  for  a  curse  on  him 

Whose  destined  chattle  thou  art  in  lust's  high  treas 
on  ; 

Take  faith  from  the  withering  grass  where  shadows 
outlimn 

A  passing  of  wings,  thy  hope  in  a  season 

When  misery's  rain  and  its  memory  fails : — 

There  is  One  who  has  never  forsaken 

Thy  need  when  no  hope  avails, 

Who  shall  comfort  when  impotent  reason 

Beats  bruised  at  impassable  bars ; 

He  will  show  thee  dominions  untaken 

By  woe,  beyond  the  stars, 

He  will  lead  thee  a  queen  through  their  valleys 
and  mountainous  places, 

From  afar  he  will  show  thee  a  Sea  with  its  mysti 
cal  sails, 

78 


He  will  teach  thee  the  fulness  of  love,  what  its  grace 

is, 

From  there  shalt  thou  see,  as  the  low  light  pales 
Children's  unborn  faces. 

Morning!  thy  marriage  the  saddest, 

The  lornest  that  lingering  love  e'er  knew; 

Morning!  thy  children  the  merriest,  maddest — 

Thine  Hours,  assuring  that  joy,  not  sorrow  is  true ; 

Those  fleet-foot  Hours  on  the  sapphire  mountains, 
dividing 

Time  from  the  lapse  of  time,  skimming  the  bound 
less  blue 

Over  the  heavens'  vast  ranges,  and  gliding 

Swifter  than  light's  own  wings  down  skies 

Asheen  to  their  twinkling  dances : 

( Hours !  in  whose  eager  eyes 

The  wonder  of  thought  abiding 

Is  delight  to  thy  mother's  gaze, 

As  the  swift  bright  flash  of  thy  glances 

Makes  fire  in  the  ether's  haze:) 

In  happier  sons  is  thy  Lord's  dull  wrath  confound- 
ed, 

Morning,  the  hope  of  a  world  is  their  young  sur 
prise 

Awakened  to  life  on  an  azure  unbounded — 

Uncircumscribed,  theirs, — till  the  day-sun  dies, — 

Thine,  by  fair  sons  surrounded. 

Daughter  of  Morning,  whisper 
Thy  mother's  name  to  the  timid  ferns, 
Sing  of  her  praise  till  they  waken  and  lisp  her 
Fame  round  the  forest  aisles  in  the  love  she  yearns ; 
Born  of  the  Dawn's  free  child,  humbler  and  lighter 
Than  hers  is  thy  fairy  touch  where  the  glad  earth 
learns 

79 


From  the  rippling  grass  thy  parentage  brighter 

And  higher  than  hot  day's  drowsy  wind: 

Hour  of  the  Breeze!  another's 

Desire  shall  kindle  what  mind 

Would  make  thee  a  sudden  smiter 

Of  lilies  abased  in  love; 

For  desire  of  all  Earth  was  thy  mother's, 

Though  her  sons  should  conquer  above ; 

Fleeter  of  foot  are  thy  brothers,  but  thou  art  the 

fairest, 

Theirs  is  all  vision  for  thou  art  gentle  and  blind ; 
Lonely  Daughter  of  Morn,  who  sharest 
Earth  with  thy  Mother,  and  all  things  kind — 
Hers  is  the  garland  thou  wearest. 

Sons  of  the  Morning!  who  left  her 

Lonely  on  barren  meadows,  forlorn 

As  a  lily  in  winter,  ye  have  bereft  her 

Of  comfort  when  love  and  its  fruit  turn  bitter  in 
scorn  ; 

Ye   glorious  spendthrifts  who   recklessly   ruin   and 
squander 

Light    on    dull    wastrels    that    ever    were   alien    to 
Morn, 

Foreign,  afar  in  vain  ethers  ye  wander, 

Clouds  and  their  vanishing  halls  are  brighter  for  ye ; 

Famous  sons  of  thy  mother, 

Who  should  be  prouder  than  she? — 

In  her  bitterest  need  must  she  ponder 

Alone,  and  dumb  as  a  stone, 

For  the  wrong  ye  do,  no  other 

Shall  suffer,  and  ye  shall  atone: 

Day  shall  not  reign  forever,  the  Nieht  grows  fret 
ful, 

Down  the  ways  of  departing  shall  Morn  go  free, 
80 


Young  once  more,  of  sorrow  forgetful, 
But  ye  shall  abide  on  the  troubled  sea 
Dusky  dreams,  and  regretful. 

Grayer  than  grief  is  thine  ageing, 

Fickle,    the   grasses   forget   thy   name, 

Ripening  under  a  warmer  presaging 

Of  Summer  and  Noon,  O  Morn,  than  thy  passion 
less  flame ; 

For  the  Morning's  desires  were  purer  than  sum 
mer's,  and  sweeter 

Than  Noon's  in  their  ruddy  distrust  of  aught  but 
shame : 

Might  I  know  whose  desire  would  defeat  her 

As  I  sped  all  night  on  those  ageless  wings, 

Might  I  hint  of  the  Noon's  false  glamour 

Where  I  slept  on  the  soul  of  things? 

For  her  Daughter  arising,  shall  meet  her 

There  on  the  withering  grass, 

Her  soft  breath  swelled  to  a  clamour 

That  hot  love  come  to  pass: 

Hour  of  the  Breeze!  thy  chosen  is  Noon,  who  will 
slay  thee; 

Blind  as  thine  eyes  thy  young  love  follows  and 
clings 

To  him  whose  passionate  fire  will  betray  thee: 

This,  wan  Morning,  thine  old  age  brings, 

Love,  not  death,   shall   dismay  thee. 

Aged,  thy  wonderment  changes, 
Morning,  whose  children  were  all  a  delight, 
A  respite  from  weeping, — and  Noon  estranges 
The  last,  the  loveliest,  pitiful,  blind  as  the  night: 
So  let  all  love's  dream  end  in  thy  daughter's  undo 
ing, 

81 


Unhappy  henceforth,  let  her  linger  on  perishing 
sight, 

For  her  fate  is  a  woe  that  surpasses  all  rueing, — 

Gaze  up,  and  receive  thy  blessing,  the  last 

Ere  the  Shadow  o'ertake  thee — 

Blindness,  as  God  moves  past. 

No  despoiling  of  light,  an  enduing 

Of  vision  shall  bless  thee  blind, 

No  coming  of  night  may  shake  thee 

Agaze  on  thine  innermost  mind ; 

Now  shine  fair  wishes  as  memories,  Morning  mis- 
mated  ; 

Sweep  out  of  all  Time,  ye  wings,  wheel  down  from 
the  Vast, 

On  thy  shadow  lies  Dawn,  her  flame  unabated, 

And  asleep  on  Infinity's  billowing  blast 

Is  a  Dream  that  our  waking  belated. 

Home  with  the  Dawn,  thy  Mother! 

Home  on  the  hush  of  those  dusky  wings: 

Thy  brief  bright  reign  is  over,  another 

Shall  waken   and  welcome   the  unborn   mother  of 

kings ; 
On  the  wide  waste  way  of  thy  going  another  shall 

brighten, 

0  Morning!  for  listen,  afar  where  thy  lost  Breeze 

sings 

Lullabies  there  where  her  babe's  eyes  lighten — 
Youngest  of  mornings  who  gladden  the  East: 
Home!  for  I  have  been  near  thee, 

1  have  been  hope's  high  priest, — 
Why  should  my  whisper  frighten 
The  soul  in  thy  darkened  eyes? 
Only  the  youngest  fear  me, 

But  thou, — thy  last  hope  dies: 
82 


Up!  on  those  wings  with  me,  dream  thou  of  my 

River! 

Day  was  of  little  things,  thy  sorrow  the  least : 
Soundly  sleep,  for  I  am  the  giver 
Of  peace, — know  that  all  grief  has  ceased, — 
For  never  those  vast  wings  quiver. 

I  am  the  hidden  concealer, 

My  comfort  was  over  thee  all  day  long: 

At  night  I  appear,  the  sudden  revealer 

Of  light  and  its  mysteries  veiling  a  starrier  throng 

Than  the  Day's  pale  wanderers:  drowse  on  those 

rushing 

Wings,  and  dream  of  my  River's  eternal  song — 
'Dip  but  a  bruised  foot,  a  rosier  flushing 
Reneweth  the  Morning  than  Dawn  e'er  knew:' 
Gently  my  presence  falling 
Steals  as  a  healing  dew 
On  anger ;  all  discords  hushing 
I  breathed  on  thy  terrible  Lord  ; 
And  thy  Sons  gave  ear  to  my  calling, 
Trembling  with  one  accord — 

'Death?'  and  I  answered,  'Yea.'     To  thy  Daugh 
ter  weeping, — 

'I  am  the  righter  of  wrong  the  blindest  do, 
Have  sight  for  the  tears  in  my  keeping.'  " 
Silence,  and  only  the  midnight  blue 
Awing  on  eternal  sleeping. 


BOOKS 

1  gloat  over  cyphered  rolls 

And  delve  in  the  souls  of  the  dead, 
Till  the  students'  curfew  tolls 

A  knell  for  the  mysteries  read  ; 

Each  ghastly  mind  parades 

Its  naked  life  in  death, 
A  shadow  mid  shadowless  shades 

Piping  a  feeble  breath — 

Shrilling  a  voice  that  late 
Smote  hot  in  truth  or  lie, 

To  gibber  a  truer  hate 
That  only  men  can  die. 

The  jester  walks  with  the  sage — 
Twin  fools  in  the  Land  of  Night, 

Here  still  the  prophets  rage 
Their  curse  of  eternal  light. 

Poets  are  here  with  the  rest, 

Divines  and   felons  lust 
As  they  did  in  the  light — but  jest! 

Their  brains  are  whispered  by  dust ; 

Their  brains  that  started  the  tears 

To  blot  a  life  or  a  page, 
Are  the  sport,  or  remorseless  jeers 

Of  winds  that  never  age. 

The  pettiest  sin  shows  great 
Tho'  the  brain-dust  rots  away, 

For  the  love  it  bears,  or  hate, 
Is  eternity's  child  to-day. 
84 


To-day — this  night  I  read 

By  their  passionless  ashes  hot, 

Like  these  I  nourish  a  seed 

That  shall  bloom  and  wither  forgot. 


READING 

Reading  the  Rune  of  the  Stars,  Riddle  of  Ages, 
Weaving  a  tangled  web  from  the  Skein  of  Fate, 
Hailing  the   Sphynx,   but   not   with   words  cf   the 

Sages  ; 

Sailing  an  unknown  Sea,  and  passing  the  Gate 
Of  the  Shadow}^  Vale,  treading  an  untrod  way 
Thro'   Time's   inscrutable    Hills;   reading   in   stone 
The  birth  of  forgotten  worlds  on  crags  grown  gray 
With   the   lichens  of  aeons,  but  each  one   reading 

alone : 

Poring  the  Book  of  Life,  but  deep  in  the  Scroll 
Of  Death ;  feeling  the  blood  of  the  Universe  beat, 
And  watching  the  Systems  whirl  by  with  a  lurch 
ing  roll 
As   they  speak   one   another   in   passing  to   reel   on 

till  they  meet 

On  the  Infinite  Silence  of  Time;  hearing  the  Song 
Of  the  worlds;  and  some  wail  up  with  the  low- 
sung  moan 
Of  the  Lost:  hearing  the  homeward  Hymns  of  the 

Throng 

As  they  haste  to  the  Tryst;  but  some  are  alone, 
alone : 

Living  one  life  as  a  mote  in  the  Infinite  whole, 
Dying  one  death,  or  the  Whole  were  plunged   in 

Night, 

Having  no  soul  but  a  gleam  of  the  Infinite  Soul  ; 
Now  an  eddying  tremor,  bathed  in  light, 
Now  a  shudder  in  ether,  calling  the  rest 
To  life;  and  later  the  ice  on  that  Iron  Hand 

86 


As  it  chills  the  brain  of  a  man,  to  end  his  quest 
For  the  Unseen  Things  outlimned  on  the  Border 
land. 

When  will  the  Great  Book  close; — what  will  the 

last 
Word  be?  We  have  read,  all  Men,  but  a  line  or 

two, 

And  must  ever  read  on,  until  we  have  passed 
Thro'  countless  deaths  to  myriad  lives  anew — 
Thro'  every  atom  it  charts,  and  every  wave 
Of  the  Infinite  Sea  it  sings;  thro'  every  deed 
Of  glory  or  shame, — must  wallow  in  every  grave 
Undelved    it    foretells;    for    this    is    the    Book    we 

read ; — 

Kosmos  Eternal,  self-existent,  not  hewn 
From  the  brain  of  Man  as  God :  Kosmos  that  sinks 
The  stars  in  the  awful  abyss  as  hoar-frost  strewn 
On  the  shores  of  the  night-brooded  sea ;  Kosmos  that 

thinks, 
And    in   thinking  creates   the   Thing;   Kosmos   the 

One, 
Tho'  many;  Kosmos  the  spark  of  the  glow-worm'* 

light, 

Kosmos  the  hell  of  the  uttermost  raging  Sun ; 
Kosmos  the  Father  of  Wrong  and  Wielder  of  Right. 


MEMORY  REMEMBERED 
I  have  stolen  away  from  home — 

Stolen  to  read  on  yonder  knoll, 

Read  a  book — or  is  it  scroll 
Legended  with  deeds  of  daring 

In  the  days  of  long  ago, — 
Mariners  on  strange  seas  faring, 
Now,  they  drift  in  listless  foam ; 

Yes,  I  knew  you — long  ago. 

Noon  has  lulled  the  apple  trees 

Till  the  droning  bees  are  still 

There  upon  the  blossomed  hill, — 
I  am  tired  of  listless  thinking, 

I  will  sleep  and  dream  awhile, 
Deep  in  purple  clover  sinking, 
I  will  sail  the  breezy  seas — 

I  will  live  with  you  a  while. 

I  have  sailed  these  brine-cut  seas, 
Know  them  in  their  wild  unrest, 
Found  their  isles  beyond  the  West, — 

Lived  and   died  with  you,  my  sea-mates, 
Sailed  with  you — but  long  ago, 

Sung  your  love-songs,  died  your  death-fates 

In  the  stinging  hail  or  breeze — 
Perished  with  you  long  ago. 

How  we  found  that  Western  Land, 
How  we  bound  their  men  for  slaves, 
How  we  lay  in  brine-fresh  graves — 

Thro'  the  apple-trees  is  singing, 
Was  it  then,  or  is  it  now? 

Hark!  the  battle  shout  goes  ringing 

And  I  grasp  a  brother's  hand — 
Farewell  then,  and  farewell  now. 
88 


As  I  ponder  o'er  my  book 
Low  I  hear  the  lazy  bees 
Droning  thro'  the  apple-trees; 

Far  away  the  kine  are  lowing 
And  a  hush  falls  over  all ; 

Swift  the  heavens  in  sunset  glowing 

Fade  in  one  remembered  look — 
Oh  my  Soul — when  was  it  all  ? 


FLAME  KINGS* 
To  J.  L.  B.,  June  26,    1914 

Afar  she  stood  and  saw  the  Flame  Kings  pass, 
Between  her  feet  and  theirs  a  chasm  yawned 
Down  whose  unutterable  void  no  star  has  dawned 
She  would  have  followed  one  whose  wistful  face 
Was  almost  turned  to  her,  but  knew  his  glance 
Forbade,  yet  hoped  ;  so,  leaning  from  that  Place, 
Beneath,  she  saw  a  Sea  of  glowing  glass, 
And  deemed  the  marvel  not  of  barren  Chance, 
But  some  design  of  him,  her  flaming  friend ; 
Lo,  mirrored  aeons  adown  a  bleak  abyss 
She  saw  the  pageant  pass,  those  Kings  ascend 
Unnumbered   ages;   dimly  dreaming,   guessed 
One  meaning  mind  has  ne'er  expressed 
In  finite  thought,  or  ever  can  ;  for  this, 
Not  mine,  is  hers ;  envisioned  with  her  mind 
I  write,  who  am  no  prophet;  seek,  and  find. 

Beating  the  ether  on  vibrant  fire, 
Steadily   soaring,    as   dreams   aspire 
On  spirit  pinions  with  vision  asheen 
To  pass  the  Dawn's  unsurmountable  hills 

And  gaze  o'er  a  Valley  unseen — 
Float  the  Flame  Kings,  one  by  one. 
Blazing  their  aureate  way  to  a  Sun 
That  is  ultimate  over  all  Kings — 

Greater  than  all,  save  Sleep, 


*This  is  an  attempt  to  describe  a  dream  which  J.  L. 
B.  actually  had.  Some  of  the  lines  are  from  the  dream 
itself ;  but.  as  usual  in  such  cases,  only  a  general  mem 
ory  of  the  whole  survives  the  awakening.  The  title 
is  a  part  of  the  dream.  J.  T. 

90 


Supreme  over  stars  and  souls, 

First  among  ordered  things, 

Lord  of  the  shoreless  Deep 

Whose  sand  shines  through  its  shoals 

As  a  shifting  glitter  of  stars 

For  a  veil  to  all  vision's  reach; 

Mover  of  ageless  tides 

Over   those  world-strewn   bars 

Where  shattered,  the  systems  bleach 

Heaping  Infinity's  grave — 

Where  the  god  of  all  dreams  abides, 

There  denser  midnight  stills 

All  rays  than  throbs  to  their  beams, 

So  a  clamour  of  silence  fills 

Black  space  with  the  ghosts  of  dreams; 

Up  to  this  Sun  they  wave, 

Flame  Kings,  one  by  one, 

And   the  sway  of  their  wending  fills 
The  crystalline  void  with  a  choral  sound, 
So  a  rushing  of  utterance  rings  around 
The  listening  stars  in  their  last  profound, — 

Sweeping  an  infinite  lyre 

With  the  chords  of  a  universe,  thundering  songs 
Of  love  begotten  on  blackened  hate, 
Of  life  on  nothingness,  rousing  throngs 
Of  slumberous  clouds  to  know  desire — 
To  look  with  might  on  unfathered  space, 
To  woo  the  night  and  beget  a  race 
Who  shall  conquer  Chaos  and  bring  forth  Fate. 

Eternity's  semblance,  cast 

As  a  shadow  of  One  loomed  vast 

On  awful  abysses  unsunned 

Down  chasms  no  Flame  may  cleave, 

Or  its  fanning  reverberate 

To  the  likeness  of  wonder  stunned 
91 


As  a  Dawn  arisen  in  hell 

Where  somberly,  oceans  heave 

Their  sooty  billows  aswell 
Under  the  blackness  of  light  unborn 
That  never  shall  startle  a  dreaming  Morn; — 

Fate,  in  that  Sun's  keen  rays 

Foreshadowing  One  on  all  days 

Round  the  uttermost  ether's  rim 

Where  the  shades  of  dreams  go  not, 

And  Flame  Kings  fade,  forgot 

In  the  splendour  of  Him. 

She  saw  the  Flame  Kings  down  a  living  vision, 
Followed  one,  and  touched  his  garment's  hem, 
Flashed  with  him  above  the  shoreless  Deep 
Whereon  his  burning  brothers  moved  serene 
Beyond  all  firmaments  afire  with  them: 
Starkly  straight  as  Morning's  primal  ray 
That  cleaves  the  Eastern  hills  from  clinging  night, 
A  solitary  beam  shot  past  her  sight, — 
A  shaft  of  adamantine  light,  but  black, 
And  sharp  as  two-edged  death,  whose  upper  blade 
Shears  life  from  man,  the  nether,  severing 
His  mind  from  time;  there,  glancing  swiftly  back, 
She  saw  the  beam  congealed  to  harder  shade, 
Beheld  a  whirling  sword  whose  sharp  decision 
Warred  upon  the  Flame  of  every  King — 
Cleft  their  elemental  fires  in  twain  ; 
The  duller  dross  was  shed  a  jewelled  rain 
Adown  the  empty  ether,  vanishing 
In  brittle  tinkling  dews  where  one  uncrowned 
His  head  majestical  as  light,  unwound 
The  involuted  fire  that  bound  his  zone, 
And  flung  his  changing  robe  of  splendid  flame — 
A  shower  of  broken  red  and  flawless  green, 
Of  emeralds  and  rubies,  down  the  night; 
92 


So  all,  save  one,  who  kept  the  dross  his  own, 
Unawed  by  any  Sun's  eternal  Name, 
Acknowledging  above  his  reign  no  might 
Save  time  alone ;  so  all,  save  one  proud  hue, — 
From    amethyst,    and    sapphires'    midnight   blue, 
Through  sultry  topazes  whose  sullen  stain 
Was  molten  gold,  to  that  pure  queen  of  gems 
Unspoiled  by  any  opalescent  sheen, — 
Commingled,    blazing   swiftly   down 
When  vassal  Flame-Kings  hurled  their  diadems 
Upon  the  Deep:  one  King  gave  not  his  crown, 
His  Flame  impure  toiled  on,  the  sword 
An  instant  paused,  then  passed;  he  owned  no  Lord. 

Unloosened  all  their  dingy  dross, 

(Save  only  one,  unblest  by  loss), 

Ethereally  lightened,  leaps  their  pace, 

Where  upward  rushing  stream  the  Kings 

Of  Flame  athwart  the  dusky  face 

Subdued    by   jewels,   of   under-space, — 

The  deeply  glowing  ether,  core 

Aflame,  though  crimsonly  concealed 

Beneath  inert  unmelting  hail 

Of  rubies,  mountain-massed,  the  shed 

Unflowing  robes  of   soaring  Kings 

Who  go  to  find  a  face  revealed 

Behind  a  whiter  fire.     No  red 

Yet  tinct  with  mortal  blood 

May  dull  that  flaming  countenance, 

Nor  green  of  emeralds  avail 

To  temper  splendour  with  amaze 

For  eyes  immortal  strangely  wed 

To  perfect  light;  the  sapphire  glows 

With  no  deep  night's   refracted   ray 


93 


Before  the  fires  of  final  Day 

Intolerably   pure   and   keen — 

Translucent  as  the  heart  of  Light, 

Ashamed,  she  shines  a  flawless  white; 

Transpierced  by  finer  fire,  the  green 

Of  emeralds,  dissolving,  clears 

To  sheerest  crystal  colourless; 

Thus  chastened,  when  the  Day  appears 

Serene  above   Death's  wilderness 

A  misty  veil  before  the  face 

Of  that  lone  Sun  outlasting  time 

Alone,  no  jewel's  ray  may  change 

Unshatterable  excellence 

To  aught  less  unified,  less  pure; 

As  queenly  rubies  fell,  so  all; 

No  lesser  radiances  endure, 

Weak  princelings  get  them  thence; 

The   smoke-beclouded    topaz   shows 

No  golden  soil  or  amber  stain 

Invisible  in   light  sublime 

Outblazing  colours ;  offering  vain 

Their  evening  stillness,   slowly  pale 

The  gentle  amethysts  to  rain 

Of  dewy  scintillance,  ashine 

Their  starry  tenderness  as  His, 

The  Sun  above  all  stars  divine — 

The  lonely  Star  who  ever  Is. 

She  followed  now  across  the  starless  places, 
Saw  the  wonder  of  their  glances  brighten 
Over  silent  voids  and  windy  spaces 
Hollowed  to  the  breath  of  time's  elation, 
Life;  beheld  their  pinions  slowly  lighten, 
Followed  up  the  Dawn,  and  heard  them  pouring 
Forth  their  souls  in  one  oblation, 
94 


Saw  the  Day-tide  ever  nearer  rushing 
Kindle  all  their  eyes  to  light's  adoring, — 
Heard  a  praise  magnificent,  and  saw  them 
One  by  one  bow  down  and  shield  their  faces ; 
Then  the  full  Day  broke,  a  sudden  flushing 
Drenched    their    bended    Flames    with    time's    last 

wonder — 

Fire  made  absolute  might  overawe  them 
Only  less  divine,  the  Flame  Kings;  nearer, 
Sterner  moved  the  Day  and  smote  asunder 
Self  from  Flame ;  the  Kings  arose,  they  hastened 
Ever  swifter  on,  nor  glanced  behind  them 
Where  she  panting  followed;  would  they  hear  her? 
Must  that  Sun's  intolerance  not  blind  them? 
Soared  the  Kings  unshaded, — they  were  chastened ; 
Face  averted,  still  she  laboured  slowly 
Up  the  ultimate  she  might  not  gaze  upon, 
Unfearful  she,  one  glance  had  blessed  her  holy 
Before  that  universal  shrine,  as  ever  on 
With  praise  in  tongues  unknown  the  free  Flames 

fared, 

Untranslatable  to  mortal   words  their  song 
She  strove  in  vain  to  murmur;  eagerly 
She  pressed  to  touch  her  friend's  immortal  plume 
Or  dazzling  feet, — would  he  but  stay! 

Had  she  but  dared, 

Who  knows,  she  had  not  died,  but  breathed  to  sing 
Unutterable  things  past  death's  remembering; 
Alas!  she  feared  to  soil  his  light  with  earthly  clay. 

Had  she  but  dared ! 
Go,  bolder  soul,  attune 
Thine  inner  ear  to  Sleep, 
Not  thou  shalt  weep; 
It  was  no  tomb 

95 


Her  humble  spirit  shunned, 
Unread   the   fatal   rune 
Inhewn  on  living  rock: 

It  was  no  doom 
Of  truth,  and  so,  to  be, 
That  song  should  fall  forgot 

Down  emptiness. 

She    hailed    him   not, 
Her  faith's  great  weariness 
O'ercame   her  eager  lips — 
Withheld  the  finger  tips 

Put  forth  to  plead; 
Perchance  he  would  not   heed? 
Alas!  that  hope  despaired 
To  touch  those  wings  unsunned 

By  mortal  stars; 
What  though  he  made  a  mock 
Of  praying  dreams,  a  jest 
On    fair   humility, — 
A  scorn   for  those  who  seek, 

And  finding  rest, 

Repine, — 

Then  had  she  shone 
(Though  ever  meek) 
With  Flame  twrice  great  as  he, 
His  seeming  radiance  known 
But  embers  of  the  fire  divine 
Unbreathed   upon   by  God, 
His  jewel  a  dingy  stone, 
His  wings  but  common  sod 
And  worthiness  a  dream. 
But  he  was  none  of  this, 
His  Flame  was  purified; 
So  had  his  spirit  kiss 
Touched  fire  upon  her  brow, 
96 


Beatified 

Her  lowliness 
And  lit  her  lips  with  prophecy; 

His  mind's   caress 
Had  burned  her  pure  as  he 
Is  clean  above  all  earthiness, 

Had  she  but  dared. 

Night  and  her  reticent  eyes  are  won! 

Chaos  no  more  is  her  temple's  fane ; 

Her  dusky  hair  is  a  molten  gold 

Where  she  walks  on  eternal  hills 

Abloom  with  flowers  of  the  uttermost  Sun 

Whose  Dawn,  as  a  coral  rain 

Sways  over  valleys,   fold  on  fold, — 

Wind   upon  wind,  awakening,  fills 

The  azure  with  fire,  the  ether  with  song, 

For  chaos  is  conquered,  his  iron  undone, 

The  Doors  of  that  hidden  tomb  unsealed 

Where  Day  has  slumbered  for  aeons  and  aeons, 

So  his  dreamful  eyes  behold  the  Sun 

Remembered,  but  unrevealed 
Through  exiled  ages  in  Death's  grim  Land: 

Whose  are  the  victory's  paeans 
Swelling  the  Morning's  freshening  gale 

Where  it  sweeps  along 
Ethereal  meads  as  a  veering  ship 
Cleaving  with  light  the  crystalline  main, — 
Furrowing  nothingness  into  spray 
Of  clustering  stars  and  worlds  flung  free 
Asparkle  in   risen   Day: 

Hail  ye  Flame-Kings,  hail ! 

Thine  is  the  song 
Trembling  Eternity's  lip 
97 


With  Fate's  ineffable,  still  refrain ; 
Thine  is  the  Dawn  on  that  Sea 
Where  life  swept  dreams  away 
And  the  shadow  of  One  was  cast 
As  an  image  of  all  to  be: 
Kings  of  the  Living  Mind, 

Thine  be  all  praise ; 
Eternal,  though  changed,  ye  soar 
Over  years  and  the  tomb  of  Time, 
Refined   in  Truth's  white  Fire, 
Free  of  the  tears  we  keep, — 
Free  of  all  years,  ye  mount 
Up  to  thy  Sun  sublime 
And  the  Perished  Dawns  respire 
In  the  wind  of  thy  wonderful  ways; 
Up  to  that  Sun  ye  stream, — 
Tongues  of   Eternity's  dream 
Heard  in  our  transient  sleep 
Here  on  the  echoing  shore 
Of   waters   remembering   Dawn. 

Such  praise  she  sang  down  Morn's  ambrosial  air, 
Her  friend,  with  long  remembrance  down  his  eyes 
Turned  back  an  instant,  sanctified  her  there, 
A  priestess  of  the  lonely  Sun  supreme 
Above  all  galaxies  and  mortal  skies: 
Where  others  gaze  on  night  beholding  nought 
Save  random  stars  or  distant  mistiness 
Of  hoary  suns,  her  mind  had  dared  to  dream 
A  vaster  universe  unseen,  yet  real, 
Within,  beyond  the  vacant  wilderness 
Of  naked  space;  till  ever  rolling  thought 
Evolving  slowly  shadowlike  from  thence, 
Assumed  corporeal  form,  and  fire  was  born ; 
As  fire  alone  may  purest  fire  refine, 
98 


From  fire  there  came  forth  flame,  from  flame 

In  ordered  sequence,  Kings  arose  divine 

Above  all  lesser  fires:  her  reverence 

For  their  sublimer  majesties  o'ercame 

All  fear,  so  she  went  singing  down  the  Morn, 

Their  prophetess. 

In  final  Day  she  stands ; 

The  Flame  Kings'  pilgrimage  is  all  but  done; 
She  may  no  nearer  go,  but  stays  afar 
Reluctantly  her  feet  that  seek  the  Sun 
As  they,  her  rulers:  there,  with  idle  hands 
Enclasped,  though  not  in  hope,  must  she  abide 
While  ever  on  they  fare  to  greet  their  Star, 
Their  undiminished  fount  through  flaming  years 
By  heedless  praise  unchilled,  or  vainer  prayer: 
How  glady  had  she  gone,  a  Flame-King's  bride! 

There  is  a  Sea  undreamed  that  each  must  cross 

On  feet  not  made  of  earth,  whose  brackish  tears 

Bewail  the  bitterness  of  every  loss 

The  clinging  clay  shall  mourn,  if  he  would  fare 

Beyond  the  Dawn  to  Day's  untravelled  Land 

And  know  the  Sun  whose  light  is  everywhere, 

Unseen,  all-seeing;  here,  upon  the  shore 

Of  that  remembering  water,  awed,  we  wait; 

The  venture  beckons  us  with  airy  hand, 

Though  Dawn  delay  and  longed-for  Night  be  late, 

Yet  some  shall  cross  at  last  and  mourn  no  more. 

A  priestess  of  the  Flame  Kings,  earthly  yet, 
She  has  not  trod  that  Sea  her  eyes  forget 
With  mortal  light;  'tis  thus  she  stands  alone, — 
While  on  they  flame, — without  the  holier  zone 


99 


Of  fire  celestial:  let  her  dream,  and  sing 
Through  me  her  distant  vision's  lesser  thing. 

What  Flame's  empurpled  arrogance  has  dared 
To  flicker  on  full  clad,  all  unashamed, 
His  hidden  heart's  divinity  unbared? 
His  jewelled  crown  shows  dull  as  dusty  glass, 
The  robe  that  once  was  fire  is  sooty  smoke ; 
Alone  he  reigns,  whose  boastful  tongue  disclaimed 
All  truth,  void  night  his  realm;  he  shall  not  rule 
An  equal  kingdom  with  his  brothers: 

"Fall 

Forever  down  to  Truth,  thy  hell,  vain  fool; 
Be  quenched  in  fires  thy  lying  life  awoke 
To  ever  fiercer  flame:  so  perish  all 
Who  desecrate  with  lust  of  gain  the  spark 
Divine  I  gave  with  life:  Die  thou;  Be  Dark." 

Calm  as  Dawn  the  awful  doom 
Flashes  stark  upon  the  King, 
Sears  the  brow  with  one  immortal  Name 
Rash  pride  would  never  own; 
No  word  spoken ;  felt  alone 
That  silent  severance  of  Flame 
From  Light  omnipotent: 
Suddenly  a  blinding  gloom 
Strikes  the  Eyes  of  Day  to  stone, 
Stays  that  radiant  soaring  band, 
Chills  the  flaming  praise  they  sing: 
Instantly  all  motion  dies, 
The  Sun  has  hurled  his  final  Dart— 
"Blaspheming  Light,  be  thou  apart"  ; 
Swift  as  fire  athwart  dead  space, 
Tipt  with  death  its  keen  beam  flies, 
Pierces  through  each  Flame  King's  heart, 
'100 


Changes  not  one  living  face; 

Still  as  yesterdays  they  stand 

Frozen  into  iron  might 

Dazzling  tongues  all  crystal  bright 

As  fallen  dews  on  asphodel, 

Save  one,  that  glisters  hard  and  black — 

An  adamantine  jewel  of  hell. 

Then  down  dead  night  a  meteor  track 
Of  arrow  blackness  lives  and  lies, — 
Extinct  the  black,  its  brilliance  dead : 
The  life  of  that  false  King  is  rendered  back 
To  death  who  breathed  and  hell  who  bred 
Its  infamy. 

This  death  his  first: 
The  very  ash  of  him  shall  die, 
His  charred-out  Flame  shall  sink  accursed, 
Be  blasted  down  to  utter  nothingness. 
Within  that  Sun's  relentless  core: 
No  later  Flame  shall  leap  to  bless 
His  memory:  his  name  shall  live  no  more. 

For  lo!  sheer  up  the  stricken  Day  he  speeds, 
A  streak  of  motion  where  all  else  is  still ; 
All  movement  save  his  own  holds  back  its  breath; 
Swifter,  swifter,  swifter  up  his  flight — 
No  dream  of  death  e'er  sped  so  swift  as  he 
Where  stark  toward  the  Star  of  Stars  he  streams 
Black  as  death  he  ever  blacker  burns, 
Chars  to  crisper  cinders  Daytide's  wrack ; 
Starting  silently,  he  stirs  the  seeming  Night 
Whose  ebon  crystal  stands  outbrazening  brass, 
By  quick  degrees  to  whisper  as  if  reeds 
Were  rustled  in  a  rising  breeze;  shrill 
As  whistling  arrows  tipt  with  sharpened  glass, 
101 


That  strive  up  wintry  winds  a  lessening  death, 
The  whisper  swells  to  shrieks  of  misery 
So  keen  his  ever  swifter  flight,  till  screams 
Of  piercing  terror  startle  space  to  learn 
This  once  that  Sun  of  Suns'  Immortal  Name 
He  yells  in  death:  the  Star  of  Stars  goes  black, 
Extinct  its  light  an   instant,   night  is  drenched 
With  pent-up  floods  of  death ;  in  seething  flame 
That  False  King's  blackened  travesty  is  quenched. 

Sheer  down  the  Sun's  immortal  Fire  he  pierced, 
Annihilated  there  he  found  his  hell. 

The  horror  of  it  strikes  her  blind ; 

She  prays  within: 

"Immortal  Mind, 

Only  thou  art  pitiless; 

Grant  my  blindness  tears  to  bless 
His  memory  and  blot  his  end  ; 
Who  knows,  he  might  have  been  my  friend." 

"This  joy  be  thine; 
Let   Mercy's   tender   dews 

Unseal  thine  eyes, 
Beholding,  after  mortal   kind 

Some  good  in  him." 

Her  plea  is  answered :  human  tears 
Refreshing  what  was  once  divine 

Rain  down  the  parched  years; 
Their  crystal  scatters  heavenly  hues — 
His  memory's  radiance  long  foredone — 

O'er  many  a  wearied  mind : 
Immortally  the  final  Sun 


1 02 


Is  Lord  of  all  our  fleeting  skies, 

Though  pity's  drops  bedim 
Light  only  less  sublime  than  His, 

Should  men  bewail 
His  changeless   Face   unseen 
Behind  our  ever-varying  veil 

Of  sorrow's  rain  and  Him? 
The  rain  shall  cease;- He  ever  is. 

Once  more  shines  forth  eternal  Day, 
With  darkness  passed  that  King  away 
A  dream   from   unremembering  life: 
Upward  throng  the  Flame  Kings,  freed 
Their  host  of  all   discordant  strife; 
While  yet  his  blasphemy  had  tongue, 
Their  praises  were  a  lyre  unstrung, 
Their  harmony  a  rifted  reed, 
And  melodies  unrythmed  jars 
Of  tuneless  dissonance;  but  now, 
As  free  on  rushing  fire  they  climb, 
Their  perfect  music  stays  the  stars 
In  distant  ravishment,  foretells 
Harmonious  years  of  bright  increase 
To  ever  purer  light,  and  swells 
A  pealing  anthem  up  to  Time, 
Who  pausing,  smooths  his  rugged  brow 
And  smiles  in  peace. 

What  mysteries  she  learned,  their  Prophetess! 
Though  one  return  from  dream,  his  labouring  mind 
May  never  overtake  the  weariness 
Who  leads  him  dayward  back,  or  following,  find 
Those  magic  portals  his  own  soul  designed 
A  gateway  into  paradise ;  so  she, 
Reluctantly  returning  thence,  may  sing 
103 


No  rounded  song  of  wide-eyed  prophecies, 
Nor  may  a  mortal's  hands  unbidden  bring 
Celestial  fire  to  men. 

I  dimly  see 

Through  her  enkindled  eyes,  infinities 
Of  all-containing  wisdom,  half-concealed 
Through  misty  revelation,  half-divine 
With  reason's  perfect  clarities  ashine; 
Gaze, — her  vision   distantly  revealed: 

As  dreams  who  have  breathed  the  spirit  of  fire 
Outspeed  all  light  on  their  wonder's  quest, 
So  the  Kings  flash  on  in  their  Sun's  behest 
Filled  with  the  Day  their  Flames  inspire: 
As  with  life-giving  wine  a  god  might  drink 
Till  his  echoing  laughter  arouses  the  storms, 
Their  spirits  are  kindled  at  fire  supreme 
Over  death's  forever  unnumbered  forms: 
Unvisioned  the  Flame  Kings'  ultimate  state, 
Their  Prophetess  gazes  beyond  all  years — 
Divining  the  Dawn  from  a  hint  of  Morn, 
Where,  ages  above  all  Night,  appears 
Ineffably  calm  as  the  face  of  Fate, 
A  gleaming  mist  of  light  unborn ; 
Smiting  the   Deep  with   reverberant   flame 
Down   all   ages   invisibly   stream 
Their  changing  majesties,  draping  our  skies 
With  auroral  splendors  moving  like  Sleep 
A  drowsy  wonder  over  the  air; 
And  some  shall  stir  in  a  dim  surmise 
Of  the  Dawn  unseen, — awaken,  to  sink 
Beneath  those  Waters  their  hopes  long  passed, — 
Find  the  Day  imagined  there 
Still  and  perfect,  calm  at  last. 


104 


Wheeling  forever  around  their  Sun, 
Grazing  its  fire  with  their  circling  spheres 
Perfected  in  flame,  their  soaring  done, 
Eternally  move  the  Kings  round  ways 
Whose  orb  ordained  forever  nears 
The  symmetries  of  a  Fire  they  graze: 

All   Flames  approximate 
Through  ever-varying  form, 
Through  death  and  shadowed  fate 
To  one  unchanging  norm, — 
One  awe  but  dimly  guessed, 
One  Mind  e'er  unexpressed 
Through    thought's    pervading   might, 

Made  manifest 
In  number's  symphonies 
Where  thought  with   being  mates; 
Though  ordered  aeons  transform 
Void  chaos  into  law, 
But  Flames  may  feel  the  awe 
Eternity  creates: 

Their  endless  orbits  weave 
For  everlasting  Night 
A  splendid  robe  of  light; 
So  clothed   in  harmonies 
All  star  and  wonder-wrought, 
Her  form  transcending  thought 
That  Flames  alone  perceive, 
Unseen  of  mortal  minds, 
Night  looms  before  the  Sun; 
Her  flaming  splendour  blinds 
Our  eyes  before  the  Day — 
Whose  Sun  we  shall  not  know: 
Her  robe  alone  we  see, 
105 


And  watch  its  flaming  flow 
Down  black  infinity: 

From  Time's  eternal  loom 
It  falls  forever,  spun 
With  warp  of  aeons  to  be 
And  woof  of  ageless  doom: 
Through  all  its  patterns  run 
The  wonders  of  the  Sun — 
The  hues  of  hope  and  dread, 
Pale  hate,  and  love's  despair 
Meet,  interwoven  there, 
The  night's  immensity 
That  frights  the  timid  dead 
Through  all,  the  darkest  thread: 
Forever  spun,   it  falls 
And  floats  o'er  years  to  be, 
A  robe  of  warmth  and  light 
Where  systems  blindly  stir — 
Unborn  in  primal  night. 
Enshrouds  all  aeons  that  were 
In  death's  chill  mystery: 

Its  smallest  part  sublime, 
No  mortal's  mind  has  read 
That  pattern's  grand  design  ; 
One  thread  of  it  appeals 
The  following  mind  to  know- 
Through   fate  and   deeds   undone; 
Majestically  slow 
Through  man-outlasting  time, 
With  many  a  secret  sign 
Its  meanings  intertwine, 
So  marvels  move  in  vain : 
To  man,  who  wove  it  not 
1 06 


It  seems  a  tangled  skein, — 
Unravel  it  who  can, 
The  single  thread  will  show 
The  whole  of  God  to  man — 
Reveal  each  hidden  plan 
And  make  the  pattern  plain. 

She  stood  afar  and  saw  the  Flame  Kings  weave 

Unsymboled  mysteries  of  light  divine, 

Sublime  beyond  all  utterance;  alas! 

That  she,  returning  thence  must  ever  leave 

The  pattern  unrevealed ;  no  feet  may  pass 

Beyond  the  Borderland  to  us:  shall  we  repine, 

Who  have  her  prophecy?     Let  us  resign 

Our  souls  to  Time;  the  words  are  hers,  not  mine. 


107 


NEWTON 

Slowly  moves  wide  wheel  on  wider  wheel, 
Grinding   gradual   time-outlasting   grain — 
System-dust,  and  finer  stuff  for  brain 

Aeon-born  to  bid  the  stars  reveal 

Their  reaping:  as  from  light  the  minds  congeal 
About  the  transient  atoms, — melt  again 
Impalpable  as  thought  in  death's  inane  ; 

Not  yet  is  mind  and  matter's  union  real. 

Incarnate  springs  man's  archetype,  the  end 
Of  age  on  adamantine  age  revolved : 
One  awful  thought  informs  the  slow  decay 

Of  heaven  on  heaven,  till  their  last  wonders  blend 
In  Newton:  motion,  time's  grim  mill  resolved 
By  him,  shall  never  wear  his  light  away. 


1 08 


JOHANN  SEBASTIAN  BACH 

Inspired  of  Time's  unuttered  harmonies, 
Deep  knower  of  the  soul  unknown  to  men, 
Forshadower  of  larger  life  again, 
Unfallen,  grander  thro'  humanities 
Beyond  the  clay;  supreme  in  sound 
And   symboled   mysteries,   lone   thou   hast   found 
One  hidden  chord  that  shall  attune  the  spheres — 
To  drown  their  chaos  thundered  harsh  in  fears 
With  melodies  subdued,  to  presage  powers 
Undreamed  thro'  all  man's  paltry,  treasured  hours 
Of  moment's  inspiration:  seek  we  light 
From  thee  enthroned  in  solitary  might. 

Eternal,  solemn,  free,  thy  music  peals 

Uncloyed  by  empty  Beauty's  languid  voice 
Ethereally  false:    thy  fugues  rejoice 

In  myriad  prophecies,  whose  chant  reveals 
Responsive  harmonies,  till  sound  unfolds 
In  rolling  splendor  like  to  God  who  holds 

A  vortex  universe  in  mind  of  one ; 

Return  they  ever  round  thy  central  sun 
Of  theme — grand  emblems  of  eternity 
Enrolling  all  within  their  tide,  whilst  we 

But  wonder  at  the  hidden  rhythm's  beat 

Within  the  rhythm,  strong,  all  pure,  all  sweet. 

Could  Orpheus'  plaintive  song  of  love  endure, 
Or  would  the  trees  and  streams  recall  those  pure 
Delights  he  sang?     Alas — one  is  forgot, 
For  song  and  singer  strayed  where  song  is  not, 
That  idle  passion  be  forever  sure 

Of  silence;  but,  let  herb  and  flesh  and  stone 


109 


Forever  perish,  then  wilt  thou  alone 
Peal  out  a  deathless  concord,  bonding  spheres 

And  systems  shadowed  in  thy  vaster  scheme 
Of  death:  not  thine  is  change,  till  all  the  years 

Of  time's  reluctant  aeons  read  thy  dream, 
That  when  their  sleep-forgotten  dawn  appears 

In  these  remembered  skies  with  sudden  light, 
The  shattered  heaven  shall  hear  the  deathless  word 

Thy  music  speaks:  still  voice  of  stiller  night — 
O  prophet  of  all  things, — we  have  but  heard 

Thy  voice  behind  the  sound,  to  comprehend 

It  not,  until  thy  endless  music  end. 


no 


JAMES  CLERK  MAXWELL 

1831-1879 

Maxwell !  fame  to  make  old  Scotland  proud, 
Sheer  genius  crystallized  in  Time  and  Space, 
Your  single  mind  would  glorify  a  race 

Tho'  Burns  we  lacked  an  a's  unminted  gowd ; 

True  Poet  you,  outsingin'  a'  their  crowd 

Wi'  wee  sma'   pipin's,   Nature  showed  her   face 
To   them, — but   you,   her   Heart,   and   bade  you 
trace 

One  boundless  life  through  lightning,  fire  and  cloud. 

Discerning  Order  where  all  seemed  mad  Chance, 
You  gave  the  clashing  Atoms  laws,  as  Fate 
Immutable;   Musician  too,  with  might 
You  swept  the  Threefold  Nabla,  till  elate 
Through  harmony,  you  flashed  on  Night  one  glance, 
From  smitten  chaos  gushed  eternal  Light. 


Ill 


A  KING 

"I  was:  I  loved:  I  am  not;"  only  these 

The  words  one  wished  for  epitaph.     He  fought 
His  valiant  fight,  and  fell;  a  friend  unsought 

Befouled  this  flawless  memory: — "The  lees 

Of  bitter  doubt  he  drained,  choked  off  disease 
And  unbelief  at  last,  denied  he  taught 
Against  our  scriptures:  evil   thus   unwrought, 

He  died  a  zealot  full  of  psalmodies." 

So  perish  all  who  strive  to  free  their  kind 
From  brainless  Custom's  brazen  tyranny. 

Fight  on!  devoted  band,  the  human  mind 

Through    truth   shall    yet     prevail,     and     reason 

saves : 
Be  crowned  with  thorny  life,  as  even  he, 

Kings  of  men  though  swine  defile  your  graves. 


112 


WILLIAM  THOMSON 

LORD  KELVIN 

1824-1907* 

High  on  the  splendid  roll  of  Britain's  fame, 
Fused  in  the  very  Ether's  pulsing  core, 
Large  as  the  marvels  Science  ever  bore, 

Writ  in  blazing  letters,  lives  one  name, — 

William  Thomson,  Intellect's  white  flame. 
Out  from  Eternity  he  strode;  before 
His     mind     Disorder's     mountains     loomed     no 
more, — 

From  unimaginable  heights  he  came. 

Into  the  Dark  he  passed,  and  Midnight  fled 

Young    as    the    Dawn    down    Heaven's  Milky 

Ways: 
In  death,  as  life,  still  faithful  to  his  trust 

With  Man  he  lingers,  none  of  him  is  dead. 

And  how  has  Britain  sung  her  loftiest  praise? — 
His  dust  is  mingling  now  with  Newton's  dust. 


*These  are  the  only  words  on  his  grave,  where  he 
lies  in  Westminster  Abbey,  beside  Newton. 


113 


FATA  MORGANA 

In  light  of  opal  wonder 
Beyond  the  Pleiades, 
A  spirit  wanders  lonely 
With  stricken   face  and   gray; 
She  shines  for  dead  men  only 
To  haunt  their  haggard  trees, 
And  rends  all  veils  asunder 
In  shadowings  of  Day. 

Her  face  is  ever  burning, 
Unbeautifully  seared 
With  furrows  wrought  by  Godhead 
In  purposing  of  Time; 
But  Man  is  ever  mislead 
By  signs  his  forbears  feared, 
And  dreams  of  any  turning 
From   Death  alone  sublime. 

In  void  of  timeless  aether 
She   sails   alone,   unknown, 
Uncharted  o'er  the  vastness 
Of  Silence  without  shore; 
She  mourns  in  dead  outcastness, 
A  barrenness  of  stone — 
For  heaven  sunk  far  beneath  her, 
Unloved  forevermore. 

The  starry  heroes'  paeans 
That  shake  eternal  seas, 
Grow  dumb  as  waiting  hill-snows, 
When  vaster  than  the  Spheres 
Her  awful  silence  echoes 

114 


Unsymboled  harmonies, 

Whose  chords  crash  on  for  aeon?. 

And  beats,  a  thousand  years. 

Alone  she  knew  the  secret 
Of  every  planet's  love, 
Their  every  fiery  passion 
Ere  Hell  was  scarce  begun; 
But  what  tho'  Chaos  crash  on, 
All  cold  she  stands  above 
The  dim,  forgotten,  far-set 
Dominions  of  the  Sun. 

She  casts  a  pale  ensnaring 
By  treachery  of  reeds, 
When  some  have  seen  her  beckon 
Their  souls  across  the  Dark; 
But   few  may  ever  reck  on 
The  deathful  dance  she  leads — 
Men  pay  for  godlike  daring 
With  bodies  grimly  stark. 

And  vainly  some  have  striven 
To  find  her  light  again, 
Yet  only  gods  have  known  her 
In  deathlessness  of  youth  ; 
And  they  are  ever  sadder 
Than  all  the  sons  of  men, 
For  them  the  clouds  are  riven 
And  they  beheld  the  Truth. 

Altho'  the  Prophets  teach  her 
In  creeds  of  Better  Things, 
And  many  Christs  have  perished 
In  babbling  of  her  name, 


Yet  every  truth  they  cherished 
Has  loosed  its  waxen  wings — 
No  change  can  ever  reach  her 
Eternally  the  Same. 

And  some  have  promised  ages 
In  knowledge  of  all  things, 
And  some  have  lied  a  ceasing 
From  knowing  of  all  kind  ; 
But  still  a  vast  increasing, 
Undying  Silence  rings 
And  throbs  thro'  pulsing  ages — 
A  mockery  of  mind. 

If  any  man  has  dreamed  her, 
His  sleep  was  tinged  with  death: 
Unveiled  she  will  be  never, 
Her  being  none  may  tell : 
In  life  we  seek  her  ever, 
And  cease  from  weary  breath 
To  know  we  never  gleamed  her 
Who  lights  not  heaven  nor  hell. 


lib 


SEEKING 

ON 

Down  the  River  of  Light, 
Swift  through  the  meadows  of  Day, 
On,  in  the  Night's  despite — 
On,  and  away! 

Touch  not  a  nodding  grass, 
Stay  not  for  any  flower, 
Stealthy  as  winds  we  pass — 
Fleet  as  the  breath  of  an  hour. 

Out  to  the  Ocean  at  last, — 
Out  where  all  winds  go  free; 
Seeker, — the  Bar  is  passed, 
The  Bar  and  the  blossoming  lea. 

Down  the  Ocean  to  Night, 
Heed  not  the  Siren's  lay — 
On,  in  the  Sun's  delight, 
On,  and  away! 

SEEK;  FIND 

Despise  this  curious  globe  inwrought  with  gold ; 

Contemn  the  wind's  untravelled  wonderland ; 

Shun  mazy  night's  consistencies  unplanned  ; 
Let  not  our  meadow's  yellow  flowers  unfold, 
Or  rot  afresh  in  mouths  of  wormy  mould ; 

Transmute  the  stubborn  atoms,  aye,  command 

New  elements  to  glow  beneath  thy  hand: 
Neglect,  perform,  the  End  is  yet  untold. 


117 


Not  earth  or  dusty  stars  may  answer  thee, 
Or  grim  death  break  thee  on  a  living  wheel ; 

No  fiend  shall  nourish  hate  on  hope  unsought: 
One  part  contains  the  whole, — alone  goes  free, 
All  else  an  idol,  whose  blind  eyes  reveal 

Behind    gray    dreams    of    God    thine    own    high 
thought. 

FLEETER  THAN  TIME 

Who  shall  outspeed  the  flight  of  a  year 

Who  is  swifter  than  light, 
Who  will  be  Home  when  the  Dawns  appear 

Innocent  in  God's  sight? 

Up  shall  they  wing  from  East  and  West 
And  the  mountains  under  the  sea — 

They  will  arise  from  their  years'  unrest 
To  sink  in  infinity. 

With  the  speed  of  days  shall  the  years  suspire, — 
Who  is  swift  as  their  wingless  feet  ? 

Fleeter  his  wings  whose  soul  would  aspire 
To  halt  the  flight  of  the  hours  most  fleet. 

Lo!  thou  swifter  than  Godlike  Light, 

Hail!  bright  Messenger  age-long  sought; 

Thou  shalt  outstrip  the  Day  and  the  Night 
Fleeter  than  Time,  O  Thought! 

ASLEEP 

O  Men!     Eternity's  forgetful  heirs 
What  starrier  deeps  unfathomed  have  ye  known  ? 
How  mournfully  thy  shallow  oceans  moan 
An  echoed  thunder  that  was  never  theirs: 
118 


One  dull  oblivion  rolls  by  day  despairs 
Athwart  the  wondrous  heavens,  a  rack  of  stone 
Around  unbounded  waters ;  these  alone 
Bar  memory   from   Earth's   unanswered   prayers. 

All  spirit  fires  are  in  thy  mortal  reach; 
A  Sun  once  loved  shall  never  disappear 
From  visioned  skies,  their  dawns  forever  near; 

Then  vaster  hope  may  humble  life  beseech? — 
Afar,  Sleep  \vakefully  wandering  may  hear 
Infinity  o'ersurge  the  dreaming  Beach. 

PURE    LIGHT 

Opinion's  various   multicoloured   Glass 

Between    men's    minds    and    Him,    the    Changeless 

One  — 

Defiles  the  changing  light  and  dims  the  Sun 
We  gaze  upon  as  fashions  come,  and  pass. 

Those  brightened  colours  cheat  man's  pensive  eye 
Till  every  page  of  years  or  Nature  glows 
With  more  than  suns;  a  rose  no  more  is  Rose, 
And  on  her  cheek  rich  sunsets  never  die: 

Is  all  that  perished  ever,  dead  in  vain, 

Must  Yesterday  forever  haunt  Today 

That  light  be  never  white,  but  gray, 

Or  Morning  tinged  with  Evening's  brighter  stain  i 

We  stand  before  the  Glass,  what  shines  Behind? 
Who  first  discerns  must  take  for  thought  his  own, 
Forgetting  all,  must  he  fare  forth  alone 
And  meet  the  Matchless  Master  Mind  to  Mind. 
119 


THE    MESSENGER 

Hold   the  flaming  torch   unshaken, 

Touch  the  years  on  feet  of  fire, 

Down  all  aisles  of  dark  desire 
Let  thy  Dawn  awaken. 

Kindle  space  in  one  keen  glance, 

Smile,  and  ordered  systems  brighten 

Round  those  shores  where  huge  wrecks  whiten- 

Quicken  with  the  wind  of  chance. 

Pass  those  titan  suns  assembled 

There  to  spoil  thine  ageless  light; 

Fire  thy  birthright,  Time's  thy  might 
Ere  ever  Ether  trembled. 

Spun  of  light,  ablaze  with  dreams 
Let  thy  hair  stream  o'er  the  aeons, 
Sounding  stars  to  deathless  paeans 

Where  the  stillest  cluster  gleams. 

Glance  a  moment's  flight  behind  thee: 
All  thine  aureate  glories  quenched, 
Flame  and  hair  in  darkness  drenched, 

Let  the  dead  Night  blind  thee. 

THE  DESIGNER 

Grown  old,  he  laboured  at  his  task  unknown, 
No  eye  beheld  that  ageless  hand  outlimn 
The  firmament,  and  no  mind  compassed  him 

Who  first  imagined  heaven  a  mystic  zone 

Of  starry  meaning;  darkened  ages  flown 
Down  empty  misery  shall  not  bedim 
His  mind,  who  mocked  the  radiant  seraphim 

And  made  their  constellated  eyes  his  own. 

120 


Unravel  thou  the  woven  Zodiac 

Who  wouldst  reveal  that  worker's  wondrous 
dream ; 

What  marvels  then,  fine-spun  as  primal  thought 
May  thread  the  ages,  lead  thee  humbled  back 

To  God,  no  wisdom  tells;  though  death  it  seem — 

Unweave ! — with    life    is    mystery    unwrought. 

"ANCIENT  OF  DAYS" 

Old  beyond  all  count  of  uttered  years, 
Immovably  stare  those  iron  eyes 
Through  every  idol  man   reveres, 
And  see  the  dust;  to  Him  no  altars  rise. 

Eternity  is  but  a  whim  of  man, 
The  Ancient  knows,  all  days  to  Him  are  one; 
No  day  of  years  since  numbered  days  began 
Is  aught  for  Him  but  'Now' ; — begun,  'tis  done. 

Where  broods  this  Ancient,  solitary,  grim 
In  timelessness,  what  awful  aspect  His? 
In  thy  unbounded  mind  behold  thou  Him, — 
A  mind  that  ever  was  and  shall  be,  is. 

THE  JEWEL 

Flawless,  calm,  it  glows, 
Imperishably  wrought 
To  perfect  symmetries 

He   only   knows 
Who  fashioned  it  serene 
Through   shaping   mysteries 
With  all  his  soul  asheen 

To  peerless  thought. 

121 


All  rays  give  up  their  gold 
Their  swifter  silver  shed 
Within  those  crystal  deeps 

Where  hues  unfold 
Their  woven  splendor  spun 
In  dreams  outblazing  Sleep's, 
Their  colors  mingled,  one 

In  beauty  wed. 

Transmuted   clarities 
Thence   issue  newly  strange ; 
Unequal  beams  unite 

Disparities 

In  wonder's  pure  increase; 
There  throbs  the  heart  of  Light — 
Its  maker's  masterpiece — 

The  soul  of  Change. 

THE    SEEKER 

Bring  no  laurel  branches  hither, 

Weave  no  wreath  that  shall  not  wither, 

Raise  no  pillared  pomp  to  him ; 

He  is  dead: 

Truth  he  saw  with  eyes  grown  dim, 
Saw  her  lips  move,  strove  to  hear  her, 
Closer  crept  and  saw  Death  near  her, — 

Heard  her  speak; 
Back  he  turned,  his  eyes  a  glory, 
He  would  tell  the  Ages'  story — 

Hers  the  praise! 
Little  recked  he  then  of  fame, 
Purified  in  life's  white  flame — 
He  beheld  her  face  to  face, 

122 


What  were  man's  immortal  bays? 
Leave  him  lonely  in  this  place 
Where  his  light  went  out  for  aye; 
Here  were  ghostly  finger  tips 
Laid  upon  his  eager  lips — 

She  passed  by; 
Halted  here  her  Fellow  grim — 

His  the  stilly  hand 
Chilling  wondrous  words  unspoken 
Truth  had  left  our  hope  a  token 

Had   she   willed : 

Scorning  us  she  loved  the  Seeker, 
Humble  we,  but  he  was  meeker 

Loving  her  alone. 
Cover  up  his  life  all  broken, 

Unfulfilled  ; 
What  he  found  is  yet  unknown, 

Yet   unsaid : 

Come,  let  us  go — 
Quit  this  place,  as  even  She 
With  no  remembrance ;  he 

Would  have  it  so. 

POSTERITY 

"Let  this  imperfect  be, 
A  Thing  of  Destiny — 

Time's  younger  child ; 
Whatever  good  betide 
Let  this  pure  hope  abide 

All  unreviled. 

If  this  be  spit  upon, 
Its  crown  of  bays  but  thorn 
When  I  am  gone, 
123 


Take  then  for  heart  a  stone, 
Depart,  and  dwell  alone 
Without  my  scorn." 

Thus  wrote  the  ancient  seer. 
They  put  his  hope  to  shame — 

Dishonoured  her. 

"Take  arms!  and  shield  her  fame  I" 
How  bravely  did  they  jeer! 

He  could  not  stir. 

VOICES 

Aeons  and  aeons  of  Voices,  weary 
Through  age  upon  age  of  tears 
Shuddering  under   the   Night, 
Darkening   prophecies,   dreary 
As  emptiness  born  of  delight; 
When  will  their  sobbing  cease? 
These  are  the  sounding  Years 
Echoing  back  to  peace. 

Crowding  the  ebon  stillness,  vaulted 
With  heavens  of  iron  above, 
Flitting  abysmal  glooms 
Where  high  Death  towers  exalted 
Over  his  vassal   Dooms — 
Struggle    the   homeless   hosts 
Crowned    with    remembering    love, — 
Forsakenly  flutter  the  ghosts. 

One  Voice  is  solemnly  pealing, 
Over  all  moaning  it  rings, 
Authority's  dominance  this, 
The  word  of  its  mournful   revealing  ?- 
124 


"Hearken,  ye  shadows  of  bliss, 
Who  wantoned  on  Life's  hot  Wine, 
Gray  spectres  of  slaves  and  Kings, 
The  Draught  ye  crave  is  mine: 

For  want  of  my  Water  ye  languish, 

'The  Wine  was  Fire,'  ye  weep ; 

Shall  I  cry  an  end  to  thy  thirst, 

Or  Time  put  a  term  to  thine  anguish? 

More  deeply  am  I  accursed, 

For  a  drop  of  thy  Wine  I  would  give 

The  whole  of  Oblivion's  Deep, 

So  changed,  I  might  die,  and  live." 

Unanswered  as  summer's  thunder 
Boasting  to  fright  the  sun, 
Eternity's  utterance  dies: 
Silence,  a  rarer  wonder 
Smites  the  adamant  skies, 
Sears  a  command  unsaid ; — 
"When  Water  and  Wine  are  one 
Shall  Death  be  King  of  the  Dead." 


125 


THE  SUBLIME 

Islands  of  stars  in  the  infinite  Deep, 
Foam  as  a  universe  blown  on  the  night, 
Eddying  ethers  that  wheel  into  being 
All  on  one  solemn  majestical  sweep 

Of  the  pinions  of  light, 
Gathering  might  in  their  mystical  motion 
Round  the  dominions  of  God's  decreeing, — 
Float  as  mere  spume  on  a  fathomless  ocean 
Unsounded  by  space,  unbounded  in  time : 
The  lift  of  those  wings  is  a  symphony  rolled 
Under  stars  as  dust  in  the  vibrant  void, 
And  their  fall  is  a  fanning  of  music  sublime-  - 
Beating  to  atoms  all  motes  destroyed, 
So  the  infinite  ocean  is  foamless  and  pure — 
For  ages  these  hushes  of  darkness  endure, — 

Till  the  wings  once  more 
An  aeon  from  under  all  nothingness,  lift 
With  vortex  whirl  on  the  brooded  shore, 
Islands  and  foam  in  a  spinning  drift ; 
And  the  pause  of  those  pinions  ere  they  descend 
Is  eternity  save  to  One  alone, 
For  the  ruined  worlds  round  reeling  suns 
But  wail  an  echo  the  waters  have  known, 
And  the  stars  are  dark  in  their  fiercest  flame — 
Their  wars  extinct,  their  endings  told, 
Their  harmonies  only  a  dream-heard  song 
Forgotten  with  dawn,  remembered  with  sleep 
Ere  ever  they  woke  or  time  had  an  end : 
Once  more  the  fall  of  all  motion  stuns 
The  foam  to  dust,  and  the  glittering  throng 
Of  motes  to  nothingness  whence  all  came; 
So  ever  those  makers  of  melody  chime — 
Rise  and  fall  in  a  timeless  rhyme, — 
126 


Being  to  void,  note  by  note, 

Void  to  being  remembering  naught, 

All  unheard  but  in  God's  one  mind 

That  wills  all  motion,  that  thinks  each  mote, 

That  lifts  the  pinions  of  life  o'er  death, 

That  speeds  all  death  on  the  wings  of  thought: 

Change  outlasted   by   Him   alone, 

The  dust  may  dream  but  a  note  of  the  song 

That  is  heard  by  Him  forever  and  ever; 

Though  the  dream  of  the  Stars  outlast  the  night, 

And  the  foam  remember  its  natal  tide, 

Though  in  seeming  of  more  than  ethereal  might 

The  eddying  atoms  whirl  and  abide 

In  the  infinite  Deep, 

Though  the  chorusing  galaxies  march  along 
The  chasms  of  space  their  wars  dissever 

From  light  for  sons, — 
Eternity's  face   is  never  revealed — 
Unseen  'neath  the  beat  of  descending  wings, — 
Unheard  is  the  song  a  universe  sings, 

Unechoed  that  victory's  paeans 
The  red  stars  peal  as  they  blacken  and  die: 
From  One  alone  is  Time  not  concealed, 
And  only  One  whose  wings  brush  by 

Untouched  forever  and  ever ; — 
One  is  the  mystery  vaster  than  all  of  them, — 
Pinions  and  foam,  a  galaxy's  diadem 
Blazing  its  noon  in  the  shadow  of  Night, — 
These  but  the  shape  of  change,  One  is  the  soul, 
Finite  the  universe,  One  is  the  whole ; 
Maker  of  mind  and  its  infinite  light, 

Comprehensible  never, 

One  is  sublime — 
Time! 


127 


THE  VALLEY  OF  THE  SHADOW 

A  Valley  sleeps  beyond  the  Western  Sea 

And  storied  Isles  of  Dream,  a  glade  of  peace, 

There  Life  is  but  a  fading  memory 

Where  hungry  Death  can  reap  no  rich  increase. 

No  sombre  vale  of  brooding  Night  is  this, 
Here,  azure  morning  ever  stills  the  air, 

No  dreaming  Dawn  awaits  the  kindling  kiss 
Of  some  long-errant  Sun  to  make  her  fair: 

A  pearly  sheen  of  changing  heavens  instills 
Immortal  hope  for  larger  Day,  unborn 

To  all  the  Valley,  save  those  fearless  hills 
That  reach  like  gods  above  the  mystic  Morn 

To  rend  out  secrets  from  the  cryptic  Sky 

Unstarred, — deep     sunk     beyond     those    chasms 
Night 

Reveals  a  breathing-span,  then,  thundering  by 
Imperial,  o'erwhelms  in  hosts  of  light. 

But  should  the  giant  Hills  prevail  o'er  Day 

To  hurl  him  down,  or  yield  the  Stars  to  Morn, 

The  Valley  Dwellers  still  shall  go  their  way, 
For  Beauty  lives  to  put  their  fears  to  scorn: 

The  rolling  meadows  shine  with  daffodils, 
And  all  the  brooks  with  ruddy  marigolds, 

Till  hyacinths,  empurpling  shadowy  hills 
Expire,  where  every  tender  bud  enfolds 


128 


Her  petaled  prayer  of  peace,  that  would  not  fade 
But  gently  yield  to  noon  the  fragrant  soul 

In  sighs, — a  breath  of  incense  loving-strayed 
From  life's  last  altar,  white  upon  the  knoll. 

There  drowse  no  browsing    flocks;    the    plaintive 
songs 

Of  birds  are  stilled  o'er  silent-swirling  streams, 
Swift-sinking  to  their  tryst  with  billowy  throngs 

Where  all  forget  their  ripples'  broken  dreams. 

There  wandering  lanes  o'ergreen  the  meads,  to  lose 
Their  ways  in  breezy  vales  of  rose  and  may, 

And  bower  their  shade  where  ever-early  dews 
Recall  dead  tears  for  some  old  yesterday. 

No  maiden  waits  her  lover  in  those  lanes, 
Where  never  ecstasies  of  summer  pale 

At  autumn's  chill ;  no  rustic  lute  complains 
The  broken  tryst  with  low,  unhappy  wail. 

No  lover  haunts  the  glens  with  broken  sighs, 

Or  tramples  down  the  patient  corn,  with  quick. 

Impatient  step,  to  greet  young  April's  eyes 

With  pleading  hope,  by  some  sweet  smelling  rick 

Of  autumn's  clover:  there,  no  soaring  song 
That  thrilled  the  Harvest  Home,  must  break 

In  anguished  melody  with  winter's  long, 
Unlovely  cry  for  loves  that  can  forsake. 

For  there,  the  shades  of  earthly  love  forget 

Their  earthiness,  and  fear  no  breath  of  shame — 

Late  chill  to  penitence  of  vain  regret — 
Ah,  There,  Dishonor  is  an  empty  name. 
129 


These  phantomed  memories  of  men  are  not 
Unloved,  for  they  may  never  feel  the  keen 

Unfriendliness  of  Death,  alone,  forgot 
By  loving  ministry,  in  couches  green 

And  white  with  fleeting  pledge  of  grass  and  flowers, 
Deflowered  by  some  once  loved  and  trusting  hand 

To  ease  the  barren  grief  of  bitter  hours, 
That  love  and  hope,  but  never  understand. 

Not  theirs  the  vanity  in  toys  of  life, 

Or  vainer  crowns  of  death ;  they  hoard  no  wreaths 
Of  deathless  bay,  or  pictured  scroll  of  strife 

Long  fought  and  done;  and  rust  is  in  their 
sheaths. 

No  flicker  false  as  haunts  the  stagnant  marsh, 
No  lying  spark  of  God's  forbidden  fire 

Enkindles  men  to  die,  and  stare  the  harsh 
Awakening  after  death  of  false  desire. 

None  seek  to  beggar  Miser  Fame,  that  dust 
Of  charlatan  defile  the  dust  of  seer, 

And  no  ethereal  love  and  loveless  lust 

Seem  one  in  death, — desire  dwells  never  here. 

No  wistful  eye  looks  forth  for  sympathy, 

Each  wanders  with  himself  in  utter  rest 
From  fearful  hope  and  tearless  misery 

Forever;  here  the  worst  is  as  the  best. 

#*##**#* 

And  if  one  wandering  there  a  day,  perchance 
A  year,  or  grayer  centuries,  may  sigh 

In  thankfulness,  then  with  an  upward  glance 
Perceive  the  soundless  war  of  hills  and  sky: 
130 


And  like  a  wounded  warrior,  dream  that  he 
Knew  battles  long  ago,  he  yet  may  learn 

That  secret,  nameless  thro'   Eternity, 
And  leave  the  Valley,  never  to  return. 

Then,  if  he  choose  to  cast  to  Earth  the  years 
Of  happy,  thoughtless  peace,  athirst  to  drink 

The  lasting  draught,  a  clouded  hand  appears 
To  point  the  hidden  slope  to  that  last  brink 

Where  grass  and  lilies  halt  reluctantly 

Before  the  hard,  forbidding  sands,  curved  up 

Like  scimitars  unsheathed  relentlessly, 
To  guard  the  secret  of  the  Master  Cup. 

Who  treads  the  hidden  slope  must  walk  alone. 
Unmoved  by  sudden  hope  or  any  fear, 

He  may  not  question  air,  or  fire,  or  stone, 

No  answer  give  they,  and  no  hope  dwells  here. 

Unmoved,  calm  lilies  wait  for  all  who  come, 
Unmoved,  the  royal  Iris  lifts  her  head, 

A  prophetess,  aye  prophetess,  but  dumb, 
Her  latest  word  of  hope  fore'er  unsaid. 

There  is  no  footprint  on  that  barren  rim, 

For  he  who  thirsts  must  throw  all  hope  or  dread 

To  Life:  the  subtle  fire  is  all  of  him 

That  treads  that  slope,  and  all  that  wills  to  tread. 

Thence  rushingly  the  sweet  and  bitter  flow 
A  mingled  harmony  of  life  and  death ; 

A  little  span  of  peace,  and  all  must  go 

In  longing  there,  to  blow  with  fluttering  breath 


Those  eager  ripples  back :  then  plunging  deep 
The  dusty  lips,  once  drink,  and  all  is  done ; 

Save  poppied  meads  of  dreams,  or  hemlock  sleep; 
Grim  Starless  Night,  or  Life's  resplendent  Sun. 


\\2 


PERCHANCE 

How  many  days  of  sheer  content 

May  any  mortal  know; 
Is  there  one  moment  yet  unspent 

To  buy  us  aught  but  woe? 

Uncertain  all  the  squandered  Past, 

Its  reckoning  falls  due; 
Before  a  veil  we  pause  aghast, — 

It  hides? — would  God  we  knew. 

All  patterned  with  a  gray  design 

Of  seas  and  sand  the  veil ; 
Put  forth  a  hand,  all  hope  resign, — 

Our  trembling  fingers  fail. 

So  troubled  here;  Beyond,  how  fair! 

Our  fearful  prayer  is  this — 
Perchance   there  rests   'neath   earth's   despair 

One  second's  flawless  bliss. 


133 


INVITATION 

Come  up  the  little  hill  with  me, 
We'll  take  the  Dawn  by  quick  surprise, 
We'll  wake  the  winds  all  down  the  lea — 

The  birds  on  yonder  tree, 
And   rouse  the  dragon-flies: 

The  dew  yet  slumbers  on  the  vine 
And  sleep  is  on  the  violet's  eyes; 
Their  revels  done,  the  moths  come  home 

And  creep  beneath  their  leaves: 
Our  joy  of  life  is  cool,  keen  wine, 
The  stilly  air  its  crystal  cup; 
Come,  climb  the  little  hill  with  me 
And  see  the  first  ray  tip  the  sheaves 
With  golden  grain:  awake,  come  up! 

WAITING 

Far  from  the  town 

On  the  spring-green  lane 

Where  the  grass  waves  fresh — 

Not  young,  but  grown, 

We'll  see  those  Hills — clear  Hills — our  own  ; 

Dust  of  our  dust  and  flesh  of  our  flesh — 

We'll  see  you  again  when  we  lay  us  down. 

What  spoke  the  thrush, — 
A  croak  for  the  town? 
But  the  Hills  are  out  there 
Let  us  watch  them  till  dark; 

Let  us  wait  till  the  sunset  comes  down  with  the 
lark  — 

134 


(He  sings  with  the  Sun  till  day  brings  him  down)  ; 
We'll  tarry, — sweet  care! — 
Till  the  hills'  night-hush. 

WEAVING 

Irrevocably  every  dream 

Takes  wing  with  wakened  Day; 
Forever  dies  the  transient  gleam 

Of  Sleep's  unearthly  ray: 
No  risen   Star  may  ever  wake 

Those  dusky  plumes 
That  night's  dim  Sun  illumes, 
Or  stir  ethereal  deeps  to  shake 

False  light  away. 

Adown  the  night's  forgotten  tombs 

Stalks  one  huge  shape  of  gray, — 
A  spectre  Day  whose  shadow  looms 

Immense  on  Light's  affray ; 
Dull  Ethers  quell  his  ghostlier  beam, 

And  Suns  forsake 
His  wings  as  Dawns  unmake 
Sleep's  mystery  in  wefts  that  seem 

Time's  interplay. 

AT  DAWN 

Far,  far  away  the  silver  city  lay, 
Far,  so  far  beneath  the  morning  hill 

It  was  a  dream, 

And  Dawn  gazed  everywhere,  save  there ; 
All  round  the  sky  a  Day's  wide  wings  hung  still  ;— 
The  lower  heaven  shone  one  azure  gleam, 
Pure  as  a  crystal  dreaming  summer  air, 

Clear  and  keen  as  the  risen  day. 
135 


Deep,  deep  beneath  the  Morning's  gleaming  brow 
Eternal  beauty  glowed  in  godlike  thought, 

Unchangeably  serene ; 

With  sudden  gust  the  freshened  wind  arose, 
Awoke,  and   strove   to  speak,  yet   uttered   nought ; 
Its  chilly  breath  revealed  no  god  unseen ; 
The  jealous  dawn  concealed  what  lone  night  knows 

The  city  dreamed,  and  suffers  now. 

TO  THE  WIND 

Come,  gently  healing  breeze  from  yonder  hill, 
Forget  the  yearning  grass  a  breathing  spell 
And  sigh  but  here!  forsake  the  lily-bell, 
Let  every  nodding  violet  dream  thee  still 
A  fragrance  unreturning;  whisper,  fill 
The  dreary  air  with  balmy  peace,  and  tell 
Our  drooping  blooms  a  tale  of  asphodel,— 
Let  them  believe  beneath  thine  airy  will. 

Blow  once  again  thou  ever-freshening  wind ; 
Bring  hither  heaven's  unbounded  atmosphere 
Those  azure  wings  of  hope's  eternal  year : 
Unchained  of  life,  by  death  still  unconfined, 
Forever  free  from  any  chilling  fear, — 
Touch  thou  with  ghostly  lips  man's  doubting  mind. 

THEN 

Over  the  Desert  and  ever  away 

From  Vales  with  their  luring  waters; 

Up  from  the  Meadows  that  smile,  "Oh  stay! 
Rest,  and  be  happy  here!" 


136 


Beneath  and  afar  the  Cities  of  Men, 
Unreal  as  the  walls  of  a  vision 

Vanish  in  Air:  shall  we  miss  them  then, 
Lonely  on  yonder  Peak? 

Starrier  dews  shall  freshen  and  bless 
Our  eyes,  than  brighter  the  meadows; 

Then  shall  Dawns  walk  in  loveliness 
Over  the  Mountain  Tops. 

WINGS 

There  was  fire  in  that  western  sky, 
And  a  sky-deep  sheen  on  the  sand 
As  we  watched  the  last  gulls  fly 
To  the  sunset's  brighter  land  ; 

Then  the  waves  curled  clear  and  green 
And  hue  on  hue  paled  fast, — 
'Twas  night,  or  the  pause  between 
Two  days  when  aeons  rush  past. 

An  eternity  stilled  each  crest, 
No  thunders  crashed  on  the  beach, 
Would  not  those  last  wings  rest 
Within  ken  of  our  vision's  reach? 

Then  rustled  small  waves  at  our  feet 
In  floods  of  forgotten  things, 
Shall  we  see  where  all  waters  meet 
Still  visions  of  striving  wings? 


137 


ONE     PURE    GIFT 

Free-handed  Life  brought  natal  gifts  to  me, 
Four  precious  things,  all  meet  for  gods,  I  ween : 
A  golden  Casket  holding  Hope  unseen ; 
An  Emerald,  clear  green  as  April  Sea, 
Whose  light  was  Youth  shone  purely,  steadily ; 
A  queenly  Pearl,  with  softly-changing  sheen, 
Betokened  Love,  yea,  all  deep  Love  may  mean  ; 
And  last,  the  Crystal  Sphere  of  Memory. 

Iron-fingered   Death  snatched  sacrifice  from  me; 
His  whistling  breath  shrilled   mercilessly  keen, — 
'Give  up  three  things,  one  mayst  thou  keep  between 
My  tempest's  wintry  poverty  and  thee:' 
The  Sphere  I  hid, — by  it  all  else  unclean 
And  vain ;  this  visions  all  Eternity. 

IN  THE  FIELDS 

Far  from  those  happier  hills  we  roamed, 

Deep  in  the  Dawn  beyond, 
Under  all  night  and  sundered  from  day 

Here  let  us  lingering  rest: — 
Far  from  our  beach  where  the  long  tides  foamed — 

Where  white  birds  cleft  the  spray — 
Rest,  they  are  memories  faintly  fond 

And  the  sky's  wide  fields  are  best. 


138 


Gaze  in  the  crystalline  depths  of  all  light, — 

Time  is  a  jewel  now; 
Over  all  waters  the  lost  wings  shine 

And  their  mystery  weaves  a  spell 
That  only  a  ghost  may  learn  aright, — 

Hush,  'tis  the  voice  we  loved  so  well: 
There  flames  a  sun  on  your  splendid  brow 

To  kindle  the  star  on  mine. 


139 


THEY  AND  WE 

Thy  pallid  land  is  but  a  shade 

Ye  happy  things  of  Sleep, 
Unreal,  ye  never  seem  to  weep 

Or  dream  the  day  afraid 
To  banish  thee.     What  boy  or  maid 

Among  you  knows  that  woe 
Is  not  a  dream :    ye  cannot  weep, 
Whose  only  sorrow  is  to  know 

Too  much  of  joy,  and  reap 
The  kindnesses  pure  love  can  sow 
Unsparingly:  'tis  but  a  shade. 

But  they  who  haunt  the  starry  glade 

Waft  us  this  message  low: 
O  men  unreal,  why  must  ye  weep — 

Unhappy  men,  dismayed 
By  every  changing  wind,  ye  weep 

False  tears  for  hate  to  keep: 
Though  many  sorrows  come,  they  go 
Forever,  down  the  dusky  deep 
Unwept,  if  ye  will  have  it  so : 

Thy  land  is  but  a  pallid  shade. 


140 


CRYSTAL  VISION 

Full  opal  sheen  of  ten  soft-orbed  moons 
Broods   whitely  o'er  yon    Shadowland   unknown 
To  wakefulness;  beneath  those  clouds,  lagunes 
For  salty  leagues  enshine  the  seaward  dunes 
Where  splendid  night,  empearled  in  misty  zone, 
Outshines  on  sand  the  sea;  one  light  alone, 
One  soundless  harmony  of  sound  attunes 
One  crystal  world  of  beams  to  flawless  tone 
Along  that  beach  where  never  sound  has  flown — 
Where,  drowned  in  light  the  day  forgotten  swoons. 

Behold !  within  the  crystalled  depths,  a  cloud, 
A  sooty  dew  steals  dankly  o'er  the  sea — 
The  soul  of  dissolution  rends  her  shroud, 
And  two  moons  die;  foul  tempests  howl  aloud 
Vast  rage  repressed  through  past  eternity 
O'er  thundered  waters,  paused,  as  they  would  flee 
Resounding  hell  with  sky-lost  crags  downbowed 
To  blast  the  sea;  the  dead  moons  welter  free 
In  grim  twin  wrack;  black,  all  utterly 
Destroyed,  they  mimic  Death,  as  still,  as  proud. 

Undimmed  their  splendors,  eight  moons  glow  serene, 
All  undismayed  tho'  sad ;  along  the  land 
Huge  shadows  vaster  grow,  till  shapes  unseen 
Ere  ruin  crashed,  awake ;  these  move  between 
Quick-quaking  dunes  and  narrow  foam-blown  sand, 
Majestically  move  to  some  command 
Unheard  when  light  was  one;  immense,  unclean, 
Their  forms  obsess  the  sand, — a  moveless  band, 
Polluters,  shadow-breeding;  swart  they  stand, 
Around  their  feet  no  blackened  blade  shall  green. 


141 


Far  athwart  long-calm  lagunes,  awake 
The  new  strange  breezes,  lift  the  light,  and  blow 
Seaward  to  wond'ring  waves, — from  salty  brake 
Of  rush  and  reed  their  whispered  rustlings  take — 
To  sigh  their  fresh  brine  breath  caressing  low 
With  laughs  of  little  waves ;  the  breezes  know 
What    crests    those    land-locked    waters    longed    to 

shake 

In  wind-wide  freedom  round  the  surging  flow 
Of  all  the  tides ;  the  strange  sighs  wander  slow 
Across  the  lake  they  loved  but  to  forsake. 

With  chilly  breath  a  shuddered  breeze  creeps  near 
To  pass  the  huddled  bulks  of  crouching  doom 
Whose  monstrous  hideousness  o'erflows  the  mere 
Between  the  dunes  and  sea ; — a  whistle  clear 
And  sharp  as  death  sucked  in, — the  breeze's  tomb 
Is  one  vile  giant's  life ; — he  rips  the  womb 
Of  groaning  Night,  and  staggering,  strives  to  rear 
His  late-raped  soul  to  heaven ;  his  eyes  presume 
Creative  Might,  till,  glaring  through  the  gloom 
He  burns  to  life  a  brother's  huger  fear. 

Their  titan  blacknesses  blot  out  the  main, 

As  leaping  up,  the  godless  brothers  glare 

Red  mutual  hate;  can  bonded  birth  restrain 

That  crimson  murder  rushing  through  each  brain? 

Gigantic  sinews  heave  as  down  they  tear 

From  skies  outraged  two  startled  moons;  they  swear 

Destruction,  hurl  the  moons  and  miss:  again 

They  drag  two  moons  from  heaven's  divine  despair. 

And  headward  heaving,  strike;  red  brains,  and  hair 

Stream  tangled  down  the  air  in  ghastly  rain. 


142 


Tranquility  is  but  an  aged  dream 

For  all  the  sea,  where  hissing,  sultry  shrill 

The  two  missed  spherets  sinking  gleam 

Their  rapine  through  the  rain ;  the  waters  teem 

With  writhing  lives  of  death-begotten  will 

To  breed  and  thrive ;  the  dunes  are  starkly  chill 

Beneath  huge  discord  wrought  by  fourfold  beam — 

The  perfect  harmony  of  ten  is  still 

To  wake  no  more,  and  murder  broods  his  fill 

Forgetful ;  light  may  die  but  not  redeem. 

Each  lonely  dune  shines  now  a  whitened  mound, 

A  desolation;  all  the  skies  loom  white 

Their  ghostliness,  and  slow  decays  confound 

Fast-aging  years;  lone  harmony  is  drowned 

Down  seas  of  chaos,  throbbing  through  the  night 

Dull-pulsed  death;  yet  four  moons  leper-bright 

As  hope  still  tramp  the  heavens  with  dogged  round 

Of  everlasting  ancientness,  till  light 

Outliving  time,  expires,  and  all  the  sight 

Of  God  is  two  moons  dead, — his  gaze  refound. 

Intolerably  blackened  glares  each  sphere — 
Each  orb  of  God  that  erstwhile  hurled  the  fire 
'Gainst  crag  and  tree;  now  sightless,  yet  severe 
The  blackness  withers  down  the  new-sown  year 
To  stubble,  dulled  all  motion,  stilled  the  choir 
Of  perfect  soundlessness :  may  two  aspire 
Undaunted  still,  to  hint  those  eyes  a  cheer 
From  moon-reflected  dawns, — will  He  require 
Their  light?  A  flash, — the  twain  expire, 
And  down  the  aether  blackness  pierces  clear. 


Speak! — who    on    pinioned    dreams   of    life    would 

soar, — 

Have  His  eyes  known  all  things  and  all  life  slain  ? 
Ah,  surely  winds  have  died  this  night  before — 
Hark !   rustling  by,  they  whisper  'nevermore'  ; 
Is  all  the  fear  and  pomp  of  death  in  vain — 
The  levelled  dunes  bring  back  the  years  again, 
Their  every  shadow  laves  the  dawns  of  yore 
Where  no  bird  utters  now  her  searching  plain 
Along  the  cliffs  and  spray-forsaken  main : — 
Lone  everlasting  night  entombs  the  shore. 


144 


THE  TEMPLE  STEPS* 

There  loomed  a  Dream  at  Slumber's  lonelier  Gate, 

I  live,  and  hold  the  vision  of  a  dream 

A  shrine  inviolate, — 

Unshaken  through  the  Ages'  troubled  thunder 

No  death  shall  rend  my  dream  and  soul  asunder, — • 

I  trod  where  suns  by  hoaried  millions  gleam 

Like  starlit  sand  around  the  Shore  of  Space; 

Here  dawned  my  deathless  dream — 

In  regions  all-transcending  human  wonder, — 

Was't  but  a  vision, — sinks  that  awful  Place 

In  Time,  in  Space,  akin  to  God  or  Fate 

Or  Either's  unseen  Face? 

Eternal  as  the  worm  that  dieth  never, 

Outflaming  Milky  Ways  that  flame  forever — 

Through  Gods  it  visioned  forth  a  vaster  State, 

Create  in  Thought,  who  mingles  all,  begot 

Alone,  without  a  Mate; 

No  god  shall  ever  dream  and  mind  dissever. 

Eternity  was  but  a  flowerful  Plot 

Whereon  I  knelt, — the  Ether,  distant  haze, 

And  Space,  a  vale  forgot; 

The  pillared  firmament  snowed  shallow-founded, — 

An  atom  circumscribed   and   death-surrounded ; 

Unsunned,  Immensity's  immortal  rays 

Pulsed  swiftly  through  the  star-dust,  throbs  of  Time 

Whose  aeons  died, — but  days 

Upon  that  Place  no  Age  has  ever  bounded: 

'Twas  not  the  Heart  of  Light,  white  fire  sublime, 


*(Some  may  be  interested  in  knowing  that  this  is  an 
attempt  to  describe  a  dream  of  extraordinary  vivid 
ness  which  the  writer  has  had  four  times  at  intervals 
separated  by  from  one  to  ten  years.) 

H5 


Enkindling  Chaos,  twinkling  clouds  of  suns 
Like  midnight's  wintry  rime; 
'Twas  keener  life  than  creeps  with  dull  pulsation 
Through   nebulae   that   blind   each   constellation — 
It  slew  the  sudden  Dawn  whose  breaking  stuns 
Void  darkness  into  Motion;  through  Night's  veins 
Light's  life  but  sluggish  runs — 
Inevitably  crawls  to  slow  cessation. 

A  swifter  Day  than  stealthy  Time  attains 

Broke  blazing  down  in  torrents  more  than  light — 

Besprent  the  starry  Plains, — 

Thus  brake  the  Dawn  that  fired  my  living  vision — 

A  flame  that  mocked  the  Suns  with  proud  derision; 

Celestial  rains  ne'er  freshened  Heaven's  sight 

For  seraph's  eyes,  as  leaped  those  Plains  to  Day 

From  dull  and  day-like  white — 

Then  was  Night  cleft  from  Day  with  keen  decision ; 

Before  that  Dawn  the  face  of  Light  went  gray, 

'Twas  absolute,  all  days  departed  thence — 

Their  false  fires  flamed  away; 

I  left  that  Place,  and  lonely,  sought  a  Higher, 

(The    Dayspring    thundered    upward,    'Mind,    as- 

pire!') 

I  poised  above  a  vaster  Eminence 
Than  sheer  Space  rears  against  the  cinder-wrack 
Of   ruined  clusters  dense 
With  blackened  stars  and  globes  of  titan  fire, 
With  galaxies  and  unborn  worlds  yet  black, 
I  paused,  until  the  Farther  Crags  unseen 
Should  hurl   the  Day-Tide  back; — 
Alone  I  waited,  watched,  and  never  trembled — 
The  spirit  of  a  thought  my  dream  resembled, — 
What  hoped  my  soul  to  see, — the  sudden  sheen 
Of  life  on  tombed  systems,  or  the  sum 
146 


Of  all  gray  Time  hath  been, — 

The  marching  of  a  Universe  for  Death  assembled  ? 

Perchance  deep  Everlastingness  I'd  plumb — 

Reach  under  perished  shoals  of  Dawns,  and  sound 

Infinities  to  come ; 

No  dream  it  seemed,  else  had  terror  taken 

Wing,  and  left  my  soul  by  hope  unshaken ; 

What  epoch,  ere  one  boundless  wave  swept  round 

All  vaulted  heavens  that  gemmed  the  blazing  Plain 

Like  jewels  on  frosty  ground — 

What  lapse  awaited  I,  by  years  forsaken, 

Is  compassed  not  by  any  vision's  brain; 

The  slowly  numbered  aeons  since  Time  began 

Delay  its  name  in  vain: — 

From  Crags  unseen  I  saw  the  Day-Tide  brighten, 

Flung  high  in  riot  billows,  poised  to  frighten 

Down  deep  Night  the  puny  mind  of  man — 

Irrevocably  drown  his  soul  in  sleep 

As  only  light-floods  can, — 

Down  Slumber's  depths  no  Dawn  shall  ever  lighten. 

An  opal  is  an  image  of  the  Deep, 

A  sudden  sea  of  lustrous  green  and  blue 

Where  skyward  billows  leap — 

Where  wizard  waters  welter  flame  encrested 

O'er  crags  and  pools  by  demon-dreams  infested, — 

Where  ever  blooms  the  smouldering  foam  anew 

In  multitudes  of  wandering  moons  aflame 

Through  clouds  of  crimson  dew, — 

An  opal  is  an  Ocean  fire-invested. 

'Twas  as  a  Sea  of  seas  the  Day-Tide  came, 
Each  drop  an  opalascent  Ocean,  vast, 
Devouring  Number's  name; 
147 


Should  He  who  knows  all  Oceans  rise,  and  shatter 

Their  mountained  waters  down  to  drops  and  scatter 

Flame-rains  of  opal  down  the  vacant  Past — 

Then,  will  each  drop  a  Sea  inseparate — 

The  Day-Tide  would  outlast 

In  fire  that  Universe  of  Light-born  matter. 

Should  all  young  years  who  ever  rose,  belate 
Their  dawns  to  one  supremest  hour,  should  all 
The  tides  one  moon  await 
To  flowr  and  roll  in  unisons  eternal — 
A  harmony  of  orbed  flame  supernal 
O'er  time  and  shaken  Time's  lone  fall, — 
Their  mingled  fires  might  not  outflame  the  Tide, 
Or  their  swift  greens  recall 
On  changing  azure  any  field  so  vernal 
As  one  Tide-Blossom,  shimmered,  opened  wide 
And  calm  in  amethystine  scintillance — 
Infinity's  bright  Bride  ; 

My  vision  sprang  to  birth,  the  Tide  swept  nearer, 
Its  cloud-he\vn  beauty  blazed  in  symbols  clearer; 
I  saw  Day's  luminescent  Armies  glance 
Through  sinuous  evolutions,  folding  spheres 
And  fires  in  mazy  dance — 

'Twas  more  than  movement, — Motion's  Mind  aus 
terer. 

O  lonely  Tomb  that  lonelier  Thought  uprears 
Against  colossal  Night,  what  tongue  may  tell 
Thy  mystery  to  Dream's  e'er  wakeful  ears, 
For  in  thy  vaults,  unborn  those  Lights  must  wan 
der 

Forever  lost,  unquenchably  they  squander 
Time's  mighty  meanings  o'er  thy  blackened  hell 
Where  Chaos  broods  his  undisputed  sway — 
148 


All  desolate  the  swell 

Of  thoughts  a  Universal  Soul  might  ponder; 

Return,  immortal- visaged  Day, — 

Thy  Tomb  a  Temple  was,  an  undreamed  Fane, 

Outlasting  quick  decay 

Of  ageless  marble  myth  and  god-beclouded, 

Whose  every  atom  spins  a  richly  crowded 

World  of  memories;  flow  back  again, 

Eternal  Day-Tide,  ebb  within  my  reach 

On  yonder  deathless  Plain — 

Where  first  I  knelt,  all  sense  and  sleep-enshrouded, 

Build  up  once  more  those  Temple-Steps,  Oh  teach 

My  eager  dream  what  feet  have  ever  trod 

Infinity's  calm  Beach — 

What  Beings  ever  watch  the  Day-Tide  breaking, — 

What  Pilgrims  leave  the  Temple-steps,  forsaking 

Light,  to  tread  with  holier  feet  unshod 

Those  hallowed  Halls  that  glowed  as  dreams  beyond 

And  shadowed  into  God, — 

Perfect,  mystical,  serene  awaking. 

Alas!  that  dreams  go  blind;  full  Day-Tide  dawned; 
The  marching  symbols  ranged  Immensities 
As  if  a  ghostly  wand 
Appointed  all  to  Order,  slowly  bringing 
Purpose  out  of  Chaos,  dayward  flinging 
Flocculi  that  ranged  their  opal  seas 
In  level  lines  of  clouded  fire  ablush 
With   Dawn's  bright  Mysteries; 
Then,  swift  as  Thought, — all   leaden  dreams  out- 
winging — 

I  saw  the  Temple  Steps  leap  out,  a  rush 
Of  vision  absolute  from  tumbled  smoke — 
Aflame  their  crimson  flush; 

And  down  those  Steps  the  Universe  descended — 
149 


A  moment  seen,  a  moment  comprehended ; 

In  soundless  majesty  all  Time  awoke 

And  showed  One  Face;  the  Steps  of  All  alone 

I  saw;  frail  vision  broke — 

I  fled  an  End  of  what  has  never  ended. 

Why  should  my  sleep  be  troubled  with  a  moan 

For  One  I  saw  not, — life  go  bowed  with  care 

For  fatal  hope  unknown ; 

I  dreamed  the  Pulse  that  stunned  to  moving  being 

Stars  and  dust  of  Stars  was  Thought's  Decreeing, — 

Imagining  sublime  of  God's  despair — 

And  Beauty  everywhere 

Brake  as  the  Day  Unseen  yet  ever  seeing; 

So,  when  the  Dawn  at  Death's  last  solemn  Gate 

Outfires  all  Stars  and  every  paler  dream — 

Shall  I,  disconsolate 

Gaze  back  upon  my  soul  with  chill  regretting — 

Curse  impotently  clouds  of  blind  forgetting 

Enshadowing  all,  save  one  reluctant  beam 

Where  still  those  Temple  Steps  fling  back  the  Day, 

And  Reason  waits  her  Mate, 

Calm  in  the  risen  Sun  that  knows  not  setting? 


150 


UNDER  THE  TREES 

Under  those  trees  by  the  well-loved  lake, 

Under  the  mournful  firs 
Sweeter  than  mirth  in  their  whispering  sigh, 

Will  I  wait  till  the  midnight  stirs, 
I  will  watch  till  the  owl  and  his  moon  awake 

To  conquer  the  star-proud  sky. 

Friends  of  my  care-free  schoolboy  days — 

Trees  I  have  loved  so  well, 
Faithful  alone  is  your  passionless  voice 

In  your  music's  mysterious  swell — 
Changeless  of  all  to  the  boy's  fond  ways 

When  manhood  cast  his  choice. 

Ever  alone  of  all  have  I  kept 

Your  memory  stainless,  clear ; 
Men  may  sing  and  their  women  may  weep, — 

Human  or  selfish  their  every  tear, 
Petty  their  songs  with  their  woes  unwept, — 

Eternal  those  tears  you  keep; — 

Kin  of  the  Stars  and  the  Milky  Way 

Under  whose  glow  you  shine, 
Trees  most  mystical,  prophesy — 

When  shall  your  song  be  mine, 
May  I  never  fling  back  the  Infinite  Day 

As  your  tops  reflect  the  Sky? 


DATE  DUE 


GAYLORD 


A     000  566  347     1 


